LIBRARY 

OF 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

A   NOVEL. 
BY  W.  D.  HOWELLS. 


By  the  Same  Author. 

A  Fearful  Responsibility; 

AND    OTHER    STORIES. 

i  vol.     i2mo.    Price,  $1.50. 

"  Exquisite  pieces  of  workmanship,  reflecting  the  very 
brightness  and  glow  of  the  atmosphere  of  Southern  Eu- 
rope."— Neva  Orleans  Democrat. 

"The  choicest  thing  in  current  fiction."  —  Hartford 
Courant. 

"The  style  is  exquisite." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  Against  the  rich  Venetian  background  which  our  author 
is  so  fond  of  throwing  into  his  sketches,  outlined  with  the 
artistic  gi ace  that  has  made  him  famous,  and  infused  with 
his  delicate  wit,  they  are  infinitely  more  fascinating  than  any 
of  the  creations  of  pure  fiction  which  other  modern  writers 
are  prone  to  give  us."  —  Syracuse  Herald 

In  the  same  volume  are  included  the  marvellously  humor- 
ous and  amusing  story  entitled,  "  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE 
SAVAGE,"  and  the  highly  finished  study  of  Venetian  life, 
tntitled"  TONELLI'S  MARRIAGE." 


JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  &  CO.,  BOSTON. 


DOCTOR  BREEN'S  PRACTICE 


A   NOVEL 


WILLIAM    D.   HOWELLS 

In 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  LADY  OF  THE  AROOSTOOK,"  "THE  UNDISCOVERED 
COUNTRY,"  "VENETIAN  LIFE,"  ETC. 


BOSTON 

JAMES   R.   OSGOOD   AND    COMPANY 
1882 


Copyright,  1881, 
BY  W.  D.  HOWELLS. 


All  rights  reserved. 


UNIVERSITY  PRE«W: 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMDRII 


PS 


DG 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 


I. 


NEAR  the  verge  of  a  bold  promontory  stands  the 
hotel,  and  looks  southeastward  over  a  sweep  of  sea 
unbroken  to  the  horizon.  Behind  it  stretches  the 
vast  forest,  which  after  two  hundred  years  has  re- 
sumed the  sterile  coast  wrested  from  it  by  the  first 
Pilgrims,  and  has  begun  to  efface  the  evidences  of 
the  inroad  made  in  recent  years  by  the  bold  specu- 
lator for  whom  Jocelyn's  is  named.  The  young 
birches  and  spruces  are  breast  high  in  the  drives 
and  avenues  at  Jocelyu's ;  the  low  blackberry  vines 
and  the  sweet  fern  cover  the  carefully-graded  side- 
walks, and  obscure  the  divisions  of  the  lots ;  the  chil- 
dren of  the  boarders  have  found  squawberries  in  the 
public  square  on  the  spot  where  the  band-stand  was 
to  have  been.  The  notion  of  a  sea-side  resort  at 
this  point  was  courageously  conceived,  and  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  it  was  generously  realized.  Except  for 


4  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

its  remoteness  from  the  railroad,  a  drawback  which 
future  enterprise  might  be  expected  to  remedy  in 
some  way,  the  place  has  many  natural  advantages. 
The  broad  plateau  is  cooled  by  a  breeze  from  the  vast 
forests  behind  it,  which  comes  laden  with  health  and 
freshness  from  the  young  pines  ;  the  sea  at  its  feet  is 
warmed  by  the  Gulf  Stream  to  a  temperature  delicious 
for  bathing.  There  are  certainly  mosquitoes  from 
the  woods  ;  but  there  are  mosquitoes  everywhere,  and 
the  report  that  people  have  been  driven  away  by 
them  is  manifestly  untrue,  for  whoever  comes  to 
Jocelyn's  remains.  The  beach  at  the  foot  of  the 
bluff  is  almost  a  mile  at  its  curve,  and  it  is  so  smooth 
and  hard  that  it  glistens  like  polished  marble  when 
newly  washed  by  the  tide.  It  is  true  that  you  reach 
it  from  the  top  by  a  flight  of  eighty  steps,  but  it  was 
intended  to  have  an  elevator,  like  those  near  the 
AY liirlpool  at  Niagara.  In  the  mean  time  it  is  easy 
enough  to  go  down,  and  the  ladies  go  down  every  day, 
taking  their  novels  or  their  needle-work  with  them. 
They  have  various  notions  of  a  bath :  some  conceive 
that  it  is  bathing  to  sit  in  the  edge  of  the  water,  and 
fin  it  shrieks  as  the  surge  sweeps  against  them  ;  others 
run  boldly  in,  and  after  a  moment  of  poignant  hesita- 
tion jump  up  and  down  half-a-dozen  times,  and  run 
out ;  yet  others  imagine  it  better  to  remain  immersed 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  5 

to  the  cliin  for  a  given  space,  looking  toward  the 
shore  with  lips  tightly  shut  and  the  breath  held. 
But  after  the  bath  they  are  all  of  one  mind  ;  they  lay 
their  shawls  on  the  warm  sand,  and,  spreading  out 
their  hair  to  dry,  they  doze  in  the  sun,  in  such  coils 
and  masses  as  the  unconscious  figure  lends  itself  to. 
When  they  rise  from  their  beds,  they  sit  in  the 
shelter  of  the  cliff  and  knit  or  sew,  while  one  of  them 
reads  aloud,  and  another  stands  watch  to  announce 
the  coming  of  the  seals,  which  frequent  a  reef  near 
the  shore  in  great  numbers.  It  has  been  said  at 
rival  points  on  the  coast  that  the  ladies  linger  there 
in  despair  of  ever  being  able  to  remount  to  the  hotel. 
A  young  man  who  clambered  along  the  shore  from 
one  of  those  points  reported  finding  day  after  day  the 
same  young  lady  stretched  out  on  the  same  shawl, 
drying  the  same  yellow  hair,  who  had  apparently 
never  gone  up-stairs  since  the  season  began.  But  the 
recurrence  of  this  phenomenon  in  this  spot  at  the 
very  moment  when  the  young  man  came  by  might 
have  been  accounted  for  upon  other  theories.  Joce- 
lyn's  was  so  secluded  that  she  could  not  have  ex- 
pected any  one  to  find  her  there  twice,  and  if -she  had 
expected  this  she  would  not  have  permitted  it.  Prob- 
ably he  saw  a  different  young  lady  each  time. 

Many  of  the  same  boarders  come  year  after  year, 


6  DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

and  these  tremble  at  the  suggestion  of  a  change  for 
the  better  in  Jocelyn's.  The  landlord  has  always  be- 
lieved that  Jocelyn's  would  come  up,  some  day,  when 
times  got  better.  He  believes  that  the  narrow-gauge 
railroad  from  New  Ley  den  —  arrested  on  paper  at  the 
disastrous  moment  when  the  fortunes  of  Jocelyn's 
felt  the  general  crash  —  will  be  pushed  through  yet ; 
and  every  summer  he  promises  that  next  summer 
they  are  going  to  have  a  steam-launch  running  twice 
a  day  from  Leyden  Harbor.  But  at  present  his 
house  is  visited  once  a  day  by  a  barge,  as  the  New 
England  coast-folks  call  the  vehicle  in  which  they 
convey  city  boarders  to  and  from  the  station,  and 
the  old  frequenters  of  the  place  hope  that  the  sta- 
tion will  never  be  nearer  Jocelyn's  than  at  present. 
Some  of  them  are  rich  enough  to  afford  a  sojourn  at 
more  fashionable  resorts ;  but  most  of  them  are  not, 
though  they  are  often  people  of  polite  tastes  and  of 
aesthetic  employments.  They  talk  with  slight  of  the 
large  watering-places,  and  probably  they  would  not 
like  them,  though  it  is  really  economy  that  inspires 
their  passion  for  Jocelyn's  with  most  of  them,  and 
they  know  of  the  splendid  weariness  of  Newport 
mostly  by  hearsay.  New  arrivals  arc  not  favored,  but 
thcro  arc  not  oik-ii  ii<-w  arrivals  at  Jucelyn's.  The 
chief  business  of  the  barge  is  to  bring  fresh  meat  for 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  7 

the  table  and  the  gaunt  bag  which  contains  the  mail ; 
for  in  the  first  flush  of  the  enterprise  the  place  was 
made  a  post-office,  and  the  landlord  is  postmaster ; 
he  has  the  help  of  the  lady-boarders  in  his  official 
duties. 

Scattered  about  among  the  young  birches  there  are 
several  of  those  pine  frames  known  as  shells,  within 
easy  walk  of  the  hotel,  where  their  inmates  board. 
They  are  picturesque  interiors,  and  are  on  informal 
terms  with  the  public  as  to  many  domestic  details. 
The  lady  of  the  house,  doing  her  back  hair  at  her 
dressing-room  glass,  is  divided  from  her  husband, 
smoking  at  the  parlor  fire-place,  only  by  a  partition  of 
unlathed  studding.  The  arrest  of  development  in 
these  shells  is  characteristic  of  everything  about  the 
place.  None  of  the  improvements  invented  since  the 
hard  times  began  have  been  added  to  Jocelyn's  ;  lawn- 
tennis  is  still  unknown  there  ;  but  there  is  a  croquet- 
ground  before  the  hotel,  where  the  short,  tough  grass 
is  kept  in  tolerable  order.  The  wickets  are  pretty 
rusty,  and  it  is  usually  the  children  who  play ;  but 
toward  the  close  of  a  certain  afternoon  a  young  lady 
was  pushing  the  balls  about  there.  She  seemed  to  be 
going  over  a  game  just  played,  and  trying  to  trace  the 
cause  of  her  failure.  She  made  bad  shots,  and 
laughed  at  her  blunders.  Another  young  lady 


8  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

drooped  languidly  on  a  bench  at  the  side  of  the 
croquet-ground,  and  followed  her  movements  with 
indifference. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  did  it,  Louise,"  panted  the 
player ;  "  it 's  astonishing  how  you  beat  me." 

The  lady  on  the  bench  made  as  if  to  answer,  but 
ended  by  coughing  hoarsely. 

"  Oh,  dear  child  ! "  cried  the  first,  dropping  her 
mallet,  and  running  to  her.  "  You  ought  to  have  put 
on  your  shawl !"  She  lifted  the  knit  shawl  lying  be- 
side her  on  the  bench,  and  laid  it  across  the  other's 
shoulders,  and  drew  it  close  about  her  neck. 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  said  the  other.  "  It  chokes  me  to  be 
bundled  up  so  tight."  She  shrugged  the  shawl  down 
to  her  shoulders  with  a  pretty  petulance.  "If  my 
chest's  protected,  that's  all  that's  necessary."  But 
she  made  no  motion  to  drape  the  outline  which  her 
neatly-fitted  dress  displayed,  and  she  did  not  move 
from  her  place,  or  look  up  at  her  anxious  friend. 

"  Oh,  but  don't  sit  here,  Louise,"  the  latter  pleaded, 
lingering  near  her.  "  I  was  wrong  to  let  you  sit  down 
at  all  after  you  had  got  heated." 

"  Well,  Grace,  I  had  to,"  said  she  who  was  called 
Louise.  "  I  was  so  tired  out.  I  'm  not  going  to  take 
more  cold.  I  can  always  tell  when  I  am.  I  '11  put 
on  the  shawl  in  half  a  minute ;  or  else  I  '11  go  in. 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  9 

I  'm  sure  there 's  nothing  to  keep  me  out.  That 's 
the  worst  of  these  lonely  places  :  my  mind  preys  upon 
itself.  That 's  what  Dr.  Nixon  always  said :  he  said 
it  was  no  use  in  air  so  long  as  my  mind  preyed  upon 
itself.  He  said  that  I  ought  to  divert  my  mind  all  I 
could,  and  keep  it  from  preying  upon  itself;  that  it 
was  worth  all  the  medicine  in  the  world." 

"  That 's  perfectly  true." 

"  Then  you  ought  n't  to  keep  reminding  me  all  the 
time  that  I  'm  sick.  That 's  what  starts  my  mind  to 
preying  upon  itself ;  and  when  it  gets  going  once  I 
can't  stop  it.  I  ought  to  treat  myself  just  like  a  well 
person ;  that 's  what  the  doctor  said" 

The  other  stood  looking  at  the  speaker  in  frowning 
perplexity.  She  was  a  serious-faced  girl,  and  now 
when  she  frowned  her  black  brows  met  sternly  above 
her  gray  eyes.  But  she  controlled  any  impulse  she 
had  to  severity,  and  asked  gently,  "  Shall  I  send  Bella 
to  you  ? " 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  can't  make  society  out  of  a  child  the 
whole  time.  I  '11  just  sit  here  till  the  barge  comes  in. 
I  suppose  it  will  be  as  empty  as  a  gourd,  as  usual." 
She  added,  with  a  sick  and  weary  negligence,  "  I 
don't  even  know  where  Bella  is.  She 's  run  off,  some- 
where." 

"  It 's  quite  time  she  should  be  looked  up,  for  tea. 


10  DK.   BEEEX'S   PEACTICE. 

I  '11  wander  out  that  way  and  look  for  her."  She 
indicated  the  wilderness  generally. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Louise.  She  now  gratefully  drew 
her  shawl  up  over  her  shoulders,  and  faced  about  on 
the  bench  so  as  to  command  an  easy  view  of  the 
arriving  barge.  The  other  met  it  on  her  way  to  the 
place  in  the  woods  where  the  children  usually  played, 
and  found  it  as  empty  as  her  friend  had  foreboded. 
But  the  driver  stopped  his  horses,  and  leaned  out  of 
the  side  of  the  wagon  with  a  little  package  in  his 
hand.  He  read  the  superscription,  and  then  glanced 
consciously  at  the  girl.  "  You  're  Miss  Breen,  ain't 
you  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  lady -like  sweetness  and  a 
sort  of  business-like  alertness. 

"  Well,"  suggested  the  driver,  "  this  is  for  Miss 
Grace  Breen,  M.  D." 

"  For  me,  thank  you,"  said  the  young  lady.  "  I  'm 
Dr.  Breen."  She  put  out  her  hand  for  the  little  pack- 
age from  the  homoeopathic  pharmacy  in  Boston  ;  and 
the  driver  yielded  it  with  a  blush  that  reddened  him 
to  his  hair.  "Well,"  lie  said  slowly,  staring  at  the 
liaiitlsniiu'.  girl,  who  did  not  visibly  share  his  embar- 
M-nt,  "they  told  me  you  was  the  one;  but  I 
could  n't  si-cm  to  get  it  through  me.  I  thought  it 
must  be  the  old  lady." 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  11 

"  My  mother  is  Mrs.  Breen,"  the  young  lady  briefly 
explained,  and  walked  rapidly  away,  leaving  the  driver 
stuck  in  the  heavy  sand  of  Sea-Glimpse  Avenue. 

"  Why,  get  up  !  "  he  shouted  to  his  horses.  "  Goin' 
to  stay  here  all  day?  "  He  craned  his  neck  round  the 
side  of  the  wagon  for  a  sight  of  her.  "  Well,  dumn  'f 
I  don't  wish  /  was  sick  •  Steps  along,"  he  mused, 
watching  the  swirl  and  ripple  of  her  skirt,  "  like  — 
/  dunno  what." 

With  her  face  turned  from  him  Dr.  Breen  blushed, 
too  ;  she  was  not  yet  so  used  to  her  quality  of  physi- 
cian that  she  could  coldly  bear  the  confusion  to 
which  her  being  a  doctor  put  men.  She  laughed 
a  little  to  herself  at  the  helplessness  of  the  driver, 
confronted  probably  for  the  first  time  with  a  graduate 
of  the  New  York  homoeopathic  school ;  but  she  be- 
lieved that  she  had  reasons  for  taking  herself  seriously 
in  every  way,  and  she  had  not  entered  upon  this 
career  without  definite  purposes.  When  she  was  not 
yet  out  of  her  teens,  she  had  an  unhappy  love  affair, 
which  was  always  darkly  referred  to  as  a  disappoint- 
ment by  people  who  knew  of  it  at  the  time.  Though 
the  particulars  of  the  case  do  not  directly  concern 
this  story,  it  may  be  stated  that  the  recreant  lover 
afterwards  married  her  dearest  girl-friend,  whom  he 
had  first  met  in  her  company.  It  was  cruel  enough, 


12  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

and  the  hurt  went  deep ;  but  it  neither  crushed  nor 
hardened  her.  It  benumbed  her  for  a  time  ;  she  sank 
out  of  sight ;  but  when  she  returned  to  the  knowledge 
of  the  world  she  showed  no  mark  of  the  blow  except 
what  was  thought  a  strange  eccentricity  in  a  girl  such 
as  she  had  been.  The  world  which  had  known  her  — 
it  was  that  of  an  inland  New  England  city — heard 
of  her  definitely  after  several  years  as  a  student  of 
medicine  in  New  York.  Those  who  had  more  of  her 
intimacy  understood  that  she  had  chosen  this  work 
with  the  intention  of  giving  her  life  to  it,  in  the  spirit 
in  which  other  women  enter  convents,  or  go  out  to 
heathen  lauds ;  but  probably  this  conception  had  its 
exaggerations.  What  was  certain  was  that  she  was 
rich  enough  to  have  no  need  of  her  profession  as  a 
means  of  support,  and  that  its  study  had  cost  her 
more  than  the  usual  suffering  that  it  brings  to  persons 
of  sensitive  nerves.  Some  details  were  almost  insu- 
perably repugnant ;  but  in  schooling  herself  to  them 
she  believed  that  she  was  preparing  to  encounter 
anything  in  the  application  of  her  science. 

Her  first  intention  had  been  to  go  back  to  her  own 
town  after  her  graduation,  and  begin  the  practice  of 
her  profession  among  those  who  had  always  known 
her,  and  whose  scrutiny  and  criticism  would  be  hard- 
est to  bear,  and  therefore,  as  she  fancied,  the  most 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  13 

useful  to  her  in  the  formation  of  character.  But 
afterwards  she  relinquished  her  purpose  in  favor  of 
a  design  which  she  thought  would  be  more  useful  to 
others  :  she  planned  going  to  one  of  the  great  factory 
towns,  and  beginning  practice  there,  in  company  with 
an  older  physician,  among  the  children  of  the  opera- 
tives. Pending  the  completion  of  this  arrangement, 
which  was  waiting  t  upon  the  decision  of  the  other 
lady,  she  had  come  to  Jocelyn's  with  her  mother,  and 
with  Mrs.  Maynard,  who  had  arrived  from  the  West, 
aimlessly  sick  and  unfriended,  just  as  they  were 
about  leaving  home.  There  was  no  resource  but  to 
invite  her  with  them,  and  Dr.  Breen  was  finding  her 
first  patient  in  this  unexpected  guest.  She  did  not 
wholly  regret  the  accident;  this,  too,  was  useful 
work,  though  not  that  she  would  have  chosen;  but 
her  mother,  after  a  fortnight,  openly  repined,  and 
could  not  mention  Mrs.  Maynard  without  some  re- 
bellious murmur.  She  was  an  old  lady,  who  had 
once  kept  a  very  vigilant  conscience  for  herself;  but 
after  making  her  life  unhappy  with  it  for  some  three- 
score years,  she  now  applied  it  entirely  to  the  exas- 
peration and  condemnation  of  others.  She  especially 
devoted  it  to  fretting  a  New  England  girl's  naturally 
morbid  sense  of  duty  in  her  daughter,  and  keeping  it 
in  the  irritation  of  perpetual  self-question.  She  had 


14  DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

never  actively  opposed  her  studying  medicine ;  that 
ambition  had  harmonized  very  well  with  certain  radi- 
cal tendencies  of  her  own,  and  it  was  at  least  not 
marriage,  which  she  had  found  tolerable  only  in  its 
modified  form  of  widowhood  ;  but  at  every  step  after 
the  decisive  step  was  taken  she  was  beset  with  mis- 
givings lest  Grace  was  not  fully  alive  to  the  grave  re- 
sponsibilities of  her  office,  which  she  accumulated 
upon  the  girl  in  proportion  as  she  flung  off  all  respon- 
sibilities of  her  own.  She  was  doubtless  deceived  by 
that  show  of  calm  which  sometimes  deceived  Grace 
herself,  who,  in  tutoring  her  soul  to  bear  what  it  had 
to  bear,  mistook  her  tense  effort  for  spiritual  re- 
pose, and  scarcely  realized  through  her  tingling  nerves 
the  strain  she  was  undergoing.  In  spite  of  the  bitter 
experience  of  her  life,  she  was  still  very  ardent  in  her 
hopes  of  usefulness,  very  scornful  of  distress  or  dis- 
comfort to  herself,  and  a  little  inclined  to  exact  the 
heroism  she  was  ready  to  show.  She  had  a  child's 
severe  morality,  and  she  had  hardly  learned  to  under- 
stand that  there  is  much  evil  in  the  world  that  does 
not  characterize  the  perpetrators  :  she  held  herself 
as  strictly  to  account  for  every  word  and  deed  as  she 
held  others,  and  she  had  an  almost  passionate  desire 
to  meet  the  consequence  of  her  errors ;  till  that  was 
felt,  an  intolerable  doom  hung  over  her.  She  tried 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  15 

not  to  be  impulsive ;  that  was  criminal  in  one  of  her 
calling ;  and  she  struggled  for  patience  with  an  en- 
deavor that  was  largely  successful. 

As  to  the  effect  of  her  career  outside  of  herself,  and 
of  those  whom  her  skill  was  to  benefit,  she  tried  to 
think  neither  arrogantly  nor  meanly.  She  would  not 
entertain  the  vanity  that  she  was  serving  what  is 
called  the  cause  of  woman,  and  she  would  not  as- 
sume any  duties  or  responsibilities  toward  it.  She 
thought  men  were  as  good  as  women ;  at  least  one 
man  had  been  no  worse  than  one  woman ;  and  it  was 
in  no  representative  or  exemplary  character  that  she 
had  chosen  her  course.  At  the  same  time  that  she 
held  these  sane  opinions,  she  believed  that  she  had 
put  away  the  hopes  with  the  pleasures  that  might 
once  have  taken  her  as  a  young  girl.  In  regard  to 
what  had  changed  the  current  of  her  life,  she  men- 
tally asserted  her  mere  nullity,  her  absolute  non-ex- 
istence. The  thought  of  it  no  longer  rankled,  and 
that  interest  could  never  be  hers  again.  If  it  had 
not  been  so  much  like  affectation,  and  so  counter 
to  her  strong  sesthetic  instinct,  she  might  have  made 
her  dress  somehow  significant  of  her  complete  abey- 
ance in  such  matters ;  but  as  it  was  she  only  studied 
simplicity,  and  as  we  have  seen  from  the  impression 
of  the  barge-driver  she  did  not  finally  escape  distinc- 


16  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

tion  in  dress  and  manner.  In  fact,  she  could  not 
have  escaped  that  effect  if  she  would;  and  it  was  one 
of  the  indomitable  contradictions  of  her  nature  that 
she  would  not. 

When  she  came  back  to  the  croquet-ground,  lead- 
ing the  little  girl  by  the  hand,  she  found  Mrs.  May- 
nard  no  longer  alone  and  no  longer  sad.  She  was 
chatting  and  laughing  with  a  slim  young  fellow, 
whose  gay  blue  eyes  looked  out  of  a  sunburnt  face, 
and  whose  straw  hat,  carried  in  his  hand,  exposed  a 
closely  shaven  head.  He  wore  a  suit  of  gray  flannel, 
and  Mrs.  Maynard  explained  that  he  was  camping  on 
the  beach  at  Birkrnan's  Cove,  and  had  come  over  in. 
the  steamer  with  her  when  she  returned  from  Europe. 
She  introduced  him  as  Mr.  Libby,  and  said,  "  Oh, 
Bella,  you  dirty  little  thing  ! " 

Mr.  Libby  bowed  anxiously  to  Grace,  and  turned 
for  refuge  to  the  little  girl. 

"  Hello,  Bella  ! " 

"Hello!"  said  the  child. 

"  Remember  me  ? " 

The  child  put  her  left  hand  on  that  of  Grace  hold- 
ing her  right,  and  prettily  pressed  her  head  against 
the  girl's  arm  in  bashful  silence.  Grace  said  some 
coldly  civil  words  to  the  young  man.  without  looking 
at  Mrs.  Maynard,  and  passed  on  into  the  house. 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  17 

.  "  You  don't  mean  that  *s  your  doctor  ? "  he  scarcely 
more  than  whispered. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  answered  Mrs.  Maynard.  "  Is  n't  she 
too  lovely  ?  And  she  's  just  as  good  !  She  used  to 
stand  up  at  school  for  me,  when  all  the  girls  were 
down  on  me  because  I  was  Western.  And  when  I 
came  East,  this  time,  I  just  went  right  straight  to  her 
house.  I  knew  she  could  tell  me  exactly  what  to  do. 
And  that 's  the  reason  I  'm  here.  I  shall  always  rec- 
ommend this  air  to  anybody  with  lung  difficulties. 
It 's  the  greatest  thing  I  I  'm  almost  another  person. 
Oh,  you  need  n't  look  after  her,  Mr.  Libby  !  There 's 
nothing  flirtatious  about  Grace,"  said  Mrs.  Maynard. 

The  young  man  recovered  himself  from  his  absent- 
minded  stare  in  the  direction  Grace  had  taken,  with 
a  frank  laugh.  "  So  much  the  better  for  a  fellow,  I 
should  say !" 

Grace  handed  the  little  girl  over  to  her  nurse,  and 
went  to  her  own  room,  where  she  found  her  mother 
waiting  to  go  down  to  tea. 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Maynard  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Breen. 

"Out  on  the  croquet-ground,"  answered  the  daughter. 

"  I  should  think  it  would  be  damp,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Breen. 

"  She  will  come  in  when  the  tea-bell  rings.  She 
\vpuld  n't  come  in  now,  if  T  told  her." 


18  DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

"  Well,"  said  the  elder  lady,  "  for  a  person  who  lets 
her  doctor  pay  her  board,  I  think  she  's  very  indepen- 
dent." 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't  speak  of  that,  mother,"  said 
the  girl. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Grace.  It 's  ridiculous,  —  that 's 
what  it  is  ;  it 's  ridiculous." 

"  I  don't  see  anything  ridiculous  in  it.  A  physi- 
cian need  not  charge  anything  unless  he  chooses,  — 
or  she ;  and  if  I  choose  to  make  Louise  my  guest  here 
it 's  quite  the  same  as  if  she  were  my  guest  at  home." 

"  I  don't  like  you  to  have  such  a  guest,"  said  Mrs. 
Breeu.  "  I  don't  see  what  claim  she  has  upon  your 
hospitality." 

"  She  has  a  double  claim  upon  it,"  Grace  answered, 
with  a  flush.  "  She  is  in  sickness  and  in  trouble.  I 
don't  see  how  she  could  have  a  better  claim.  Even 
if  she  were  quite  well  1  should  consider  the  way  she 
had  been  treated  by  her  husband  sufficient,  and  I 
should  want  to  do  everything  I  could  for  her." 

"  I  should  want  her  to  behave  herself,"  said  Mrs. 
Breen  dryly. 

"  How  behave  herself  ?  What  do  you  mean  ? "  de- 
inamled  Grace,  with  guilty  heat. 

"You  know  what  I  mean,  Grace.  A  woman  in  her 
position  ought  to  be  more  circumspect  than  any 


DR.    BREEN'S    PRACTICE.  19 

other  woman,  if  she  wants  people  to  believe  that  her 
husband  treated  her  badly." 

"We  oughtn't  to  blame  her  for  trying  to  forget 
her  troubles.  It's  essential- to  her  recovery  for  her 
to  be  as  cheerful  as  she  can  be.  I  know  that  she  's 
impulsive,  and  she  's  free  in  her  manners  with  stran- 
gers ;  but  I  suppose  that 's  her  Westernism.  She 's 
almost  distracted.  She  was  crying  half  the  night, 
with  her  troubles,  and  kept  Bella  and  me  both 
awake." 

"  Is  Bella  with  her  now  ?  " 

"  No,"  Grace  admitted.  "  Jane 's  getting  her  ready 
to  go  down  with  us.  Louise  is  talking  with  a  gen- 
tleman who  came  over  on  the  steamer  with  her ; 
he  's  camping  on  the  beach  near  here.  I  did  n't  wait 
to  hear  particulars." 

When  the  nurse  brought  the  little  girl  to  their 
door,  Mrs.  Breen  took  one  hand  and  Grace  the  other, 
and  they  led  her  down  to  tea.  Mrs.  Maynard  was 
already  at  table,  and  told  them  all  about  meeting  Mr. 
Libby  abroad. 

Until  the  present  time  she  and  Grace  had  not  seen 
each  other  since  they  were  at  school  together  in 
Southing-ton,  where  the  girl  used  to  hear  so  much 
to  the  disadvantage  of  her  native  section  that  she 
would  hardly  have  owned  to  it  if  her  accent  had  not 


20  I>E.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

found  her  out.  It  would  have  been  pleasanter  to  be- 
friend another  person,  but  the  little  Westerner  suf- 
fered a  veritable  persecution,  and  that  was  enough  to 
make  Grace  her  friend.  Shortly  after  she  returned 
home  from  school  she  married,  in  that  casual  and 
tentative  fashion  in  which  so  many  marriages  seem 
made.  Grace  had  heard  of  her  as  travelling  in  Eu- 
rope with  her  husband,  from  whom  she  was  now  sep- 
arated. She  reported  that  he  had  known  Mr.  Libby 
in  his  bachelor  days,  and  that  Mr.  Libby  had  trav- 
elled with  them.  Mr.  Maynard  appeared  to  have 
left  to  Mr.  Libby  the  arrangement  of  his  wife's  pleas- 
ures, the  supervision  of  her  shopping,  and  the  direc- 
tion of  their  common  journeys  and  sojourns ;  and  it 
seemed  to  have  been  indifferent  to  him  whether  his 
friend  was  smoking  and  telling  stories  with  him,  or 
going  with  his  wife  to  the  opera,  or  upon  such  excur- 
sions as  he  had  no  taste  for.  She  gave  the  details  of 
the  triangular  intimacy  with  a  frank  unconscious- 
ness; and  after  nine  o'clock  she  returned  from  a 
moonlight  walk  on  the  beach  with  Mr.  Libby. 

Grace  sat  waiting  for  her  at  the  little  one's  bedside, 
for  Bella  had  been  afraid  to  go  to  sleep  alone. 

"  How  good  you  are ! "  cried  Louise,  in  a  grateful 
under-tone,  as  she  came  in.  She  kissed  Grace,  and 
choked  down  a  cou'di  with  her  hand  over  her  mouth. 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  21 

"Louise,"  said  Grace  sternly,  "this  is  shameful! 
You  forget  that  you  are  married,  and  ill,  too." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  ever  so  much  better,  to-night.  The  air's 
just  as  dry !  And  you  need  n't  mind  Mr.  Libby. 
He 's  such  an  old  friend !  Besides,  I  'in  sure  to  gain 
the  case." 

"No  matter.  Even  as  a  divorced  woman,  you 
oughtn't  to  go  on  in  this  way." 

"  Well,  I  would  n't,  with  every  one.  But  it 's  quite 
different  with  Mr.  Libby.  And,  besides,  I  have  to 
keep  my  mind  from  preying  on  itself  somehow" 


22  DR.    BEZEL'S   PRACTICE. 


II. 


MRS.  MAYNARD  sat  in  the  sun  on  the  seaward- 
looking  piazza  of  the  hotel,  and  coughed  in  the  warm 
air.  She  told  the  ladies,  as  they  came  out  from  break- 
fast, that  she  was  ever  so  much  better  generally,  but 
that  she  seemed  to  have  more  of  that  tickling  in  her 
throat.  Each  of  them  advised  her  for  good,  and  sug- 
gested this  specific  and  that;  and  they  all  asked  her 
what  Miss  Breen  was  doing  for  her  cough.  Mrs. 
Maynard  replied,  between  the  paroxysms,  that  she 
did  not  know :  it  was  some  kind  of  powders.  Then 
they  said  they  would  think  she  would  want  to  try 
something  active ;  even  those  among  them  who  were 
homceopathists  insinuated  a  fine  distrust  of  a  physician 
of  their  own  sex.  "  Oh,  it 's  nothing  serious,"  Mrs. 
Maynard  explained.  "  It 's  just  bronchial.  The  air 
will  do  me  more  good  than  anything.  I  'm  keeping 
out  in  it  all  I  can." 

After  they  were  gone,  a  queer,  gaunt  man  came 
and  glanced  from  the  doorway  at  her.  He  had  one 
eye  in  unnatural  fixity,  and  the  other  set  at  that 


DK.    BKEEN'S   PRACTICE.  23 

abnormal  slant  which  is  said  to  qualify  the  owner  for 
looking  round  a  corner  before  he  gets  to  it.  A  droll 
twist  of  his  mouth  seemed  partly  physical,  but  there 
is  no  doubt  that  he  had  often  a  humorous  intention. 
It  was  Barlow,  the  man-of-all-work,  who  killed  and 
plucked  the  poultry,  peeled  the  potatoes  and  picked 
the  peas,  pulled  the  sweet-corn  and  the  tomatoes, 
kindled  the  kitchen  fire,  harnessed  the  old  splay- 
footed mare,  —  safe  for  ladies  and  children,  and  in- 
tolerable for  all  others,  which  formed  the  entire  stud 
of  the  Jocelyn  House  stables,  —  dug  the  clams,  rowed 
and  sailed  the  boat,  looked  after  the  bath-houses,  and 
came  in  contact  with  the  guests  at  so  many  points 
that  he  was  on  easy  terms  with  them  all.  This  ease 
tended  to  an  intimacy  which  he  was  himself  power- 
less to  repress,  and  which,  from  time  to  time,  required 
their  intervention.  He  now  wore  a  simple  costume 
of  shirt  and  trousers,  the  latter  terminated  by  a  pair 
of  broken  shoes,  and  sustained  by  what  he  called  a 
single  gallows ;  his  broad-brimmed  straw  hat  scooped 
down  upon  his  shoulders  behind,  and  in  front  added 
to  his  congenital  difficulty  of  getting  people  in  focus. 
"  How  do  you  do,  this  morning,  Mrs.  Maynard  ? "  he 
said. 

"  Oh,  I'm  first-rate,  Mr.  Barlow.     What  sort  of 
day  do  you  think  it 's  going  to  be  for  a  sail  ?  " 


24  DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

Barlow  came  out  to  the  edge  of  the  piazza,  and 
looked  at  the  sea  and  sky.  "  First-rate.  Fog 's  most 
burnt  away  now.  You  don't  often  see  a  fog  at  Joce- 
lyn's  after  ten  o'clock  in  the  mornin'." 

He  looked  for  approval  to  Mrs.  Maynard,  who  said, 
"  That 's  so.  The  air 's  just  splendid.  It 's  doing  every- 
thing for  me." 

"It's  these  pine  woods,  back  o'  here.  Every 
breath  on  'em  does  ye  good.  It 's  the  balsam  in  it. 
D'  you  ever  try,"  he  asked,  stretching  his  hand  as  far 
up  the  piazza-post  as  he  could,  and  swinging  into  a 
conversational  posture,  — "  d'  you  ever  try  whis- 
key —  good  old  Bourbon  whiskey  —  with  white-pine 
chips  in  it  ?  " 

Mrs.  Maynard  looked  up  with  interest,  but,  shak- 
ing her  head,  coughed  for  no. 

"  Well,  /  should  like  to  have  you  try  that." 

"  What  does  it  do  ? "  she  gasped,  when  she  could 
get  her  breath. 

"  Well,  it 's  soothin'  t'  the  cough,  and  it  builds  ye 
up,  every  ways.  Why,  my  brother,"  continued  the 
factotum,  "  he  died  of  consumption  when  I  was  a  boy, 
—  reg'lar  old  New  England  consumption.  Don't 
hardly  ever  hear  of  it  any  more,  round  here.  Well,  I 
don't  suppose  there 's  been  a  case  of  regular  old  New 
England  consumption  —  well,  not  the  old  New  En"- 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  25 

land  kind  —  since  these  woods  growed  up.  He  used 
to  take  whiskey  with  white-pine  chips  in  it ;  and  I 
can  remember  hearin'  'em  say  that  it  done  him  more 
good  than  all  the  doctor's  stuff.  He  'd  been  out  to 
Demarary,  and  every  wheres,  and  he  come  home  in  the 
last  stages,  and  took  up  with  this  whiskey  with  white- 
pine  chips  in  it.  Well,  it's  just  like  this,  I  presume  : 
it 's  the  balsam  in  the  chips.  It  don't  make  any  dif- 
ference how  you  git  the  balsam  into  your  system, 
so  's  't  you  git  it  there.  /  should  like  to  have  you 
try  whiskey  with  white-pine  chips  in  it." 

He  looked  convincingly  at  Mrs.  Mayuard,  who  said 
she  should  like  to  try  it.  "  It 's  just  bronchial  with 
me,  you  know.  But  I  should  like  to  try  it.  I  know 
it  would  be  soothing;  and  I've  always  heard  that 
whiskey  was  the  very  thing  to  build  you  up.  But," 
she  added,  lapsing  from  this  vision  of  recovery,  "I 
could  n't  take  it  unless  Grace  said  so.  She  'd  be  sure 
to  find  it  out." 

"  Why,  look  here,"  said  Barlow.  "  As  far  forth  as 
that  goes,  you  could  keep  the  bottle  in  my  room.  Not 
but  what  I  believe  in  going  by  your  doctor's  direc- 
tions, it  don't  matter  who  your  doctor  is.  I  ain't 
sayin'  nothin'  against  Miss  Breen,  you  understand  ? " 

"  Oh,  no  f  "  cried  Mrs.  Maynard. 

"  I  never  see  much  nicer  ladies  than  her  and  her 


26  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

mother  in  the  house.  But  you  just  tell  her  about  the 
whiskey  with  the  white-pine  chips  in  it.  May  be  she 
never  heard  of  it.  Well,  she  hain't  had  a  great  deal 
of  experience  yet." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Maynard.  "  And  I  think  she  11  be 
glad  to  hear  of  it.  You  may  be  sure  I  '11  tell  her, 
Mr.  Barlow.  Grace  is  everything  for  the  balsamic 
properties  of  the  air,  down  here.  That's  what  she 
said ;  and  as  you  say,  it  does  n't  matter  how  you  get 
the  balsam  into  your  system,  so  you  get  it  there." 

"No,"  said  the  factotum,  in  a  tone  of  misgiving,  as 
if  the  repetition  of  the  words  presented  the  theory  in 
a  new  light  to  him. 

"What  I  think  is,  and  what  I'm  always  telling 
Grace,"  pursued  Mrs.  Maynard,  in  that  confidential 
spirit  in  which  she  helplessly  spoke  of  her  friends  by 
their  first  names  to  every  one,  "  that  if  J  could  once 
get  my  digestion  all  right,  then  the  cough  would  stop 
of  itself.  The  doctor  said  —  Dr.  Nixon,  that  is  —  that 
it  was  more  than  half  the  digestion  any  way.  But 
just  as  soon  as  I  eat  anything  —  or  if  I  over-eat  a  lit- 
tle—  then  that  tickling  in  my  throat  begins,  and 
ilien  I  commence  coughing ;  and  I  'm  back  just  where 
I  was.  It 's  the  digestion.  I  ought  n't  to  have  eaten 
that  mince  pie,  yesterday." 

"  No,"  admitted  Barlow.     Then  he  said,  in  indirect 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  27 

defence  of  the  kitchen,  "  I  think  you  had  n't  ought  to 
be  out  in  the  night  air,  —  well,  not  a  great  deal." 

"  Well,  I  don't  suppose  it  does  do  me  much  good," 
Mrs.  Maynard  said,  turning  her  eyes  seaward. 

Barlow  let  his  hand  drop  from  the  piazza  post,  and 
slouched  in-doors  ;  but  he  came  out  again  as  if  pricked 
by  conscience  to  return. 

"  After  all,  you  know,  it  did  n't  cure  him." 

"  What  cure  him  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Mayuard. 

"  The  whiskey  with  the  white-pine  chips  in  it." 

"  Cure  who  ? " 

"  My  brother." 

"  Oli!  Oh,  yes!  But  mine 's  only  bronchial.  I  think 
it  might  do  me  good.  I  shall  tell  Grace  about  it." 

Barlow  looked  troubled,  as  if  his  success  in  the 
suggestion  of  this  remedy  were  not  finally  a  pleasure  ; 
but  as  Mrs.  Maynard  kept  her  eyes  persistently  turned 
from  him,  and  was  evidently  tired,  he  had  nothing  for 
it  but  to  go  in-doors  again.  He  met  Grace,  and  made 
way  for  her  on  the  threshold  to  pass  out.  : 

As  she  joined  Mrs.  Maynard,  "  Well,  Grace,"  said 
the  latter,  "  I  do  believe  you  are  right.  I  have  taken 
some  more  cold.  But  that  shows  that  it  does  n't  get 
worse  of  itself,  and  I  think  we  ought  to  be  encouraged 
by  that.  I  'ni  going  to  be  more  careful  of  the  night 
air  after  this." 


28  DK.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  I  don't  think  the  night  air  was  the  worst  thing 
about  it,  Louise,"  said  Grace  bluntly. 

"You  mean  the  damp  from  the  sand?  I  put  on 
my  rubbers." 

"  I  don't  mean  the  damp  sand,"  said  Grace,  begin- 
ning to  pull  over  some  sewing  which  she  had  in  her 
lap,  and  looking  down  at  it. 

Mrs.  Maynard  watched  her  a  while  in  expectation 
that  she  would  say  more,  but  she  did  not  speak. 
"  Oh,  well ! "  she  was  forced  to  continue  herself,  "  if 
you  're  going  to  go  on  with  that  !  " 

"  The  question  is,"  said  Grace,  getting  the  thread 
she  wanted,  "  whether  you  are  going  on  with  it." 

"  Why,  I  can't  see  any  possible  harm  in  it,"  pro- 
tested Mrs.  Maynard.  "  I  suppose  you  don't  exactly 
like  my  going  with  Mr.  Libby,  and  I  know  that  under 
some  circumstances  it  would  n't  be  quite  the  thing. 
But  did  n't  I  tell  you  last  night  how  he  lived  with  us 
in  Europe  ?  And  when  we  were  all  coming  over  on 
the  steamer  together  Mr.  Libby  and  Mr.  Maynard 
were  together  the  whole  time,  smoking  and  telling 
stories.  They  were  the  greatest  friends  !  Why,  it 
isn't  as  if  he  was  a  stranger,  or  an  enemy  of  Mr. 
Maynard's." 

Grace  dropped  her  sewing  into  her  lap.  "  Really, 
Louise,  you  're  incredible ! "  She  looked  sternly  at 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  29 

the  invalid ;  but  broke  into  a  laugh,  on  which  Mrs. 
Maynard  waited  with  a  puzzled  face.  As  Grace  said 
nothing  more,  she  helplessly  resumed  :  — 

"  We  did  n't  expect  to  go  down  the  cliff  when  he 
first  called  in  the  evening.  But  he  said  he  would 
help  me  up  again,  and  —  he  did,  nicely.  I  was  n't 
exhausted  a  bit ;  and  how  I  took  more  cold  I  can't 
understand ;  I  was  wrapped  up  warmly.  /  think  I 
took  the  cold  when  I  was  sitting  there  after  our  game 
of  croquet,  with  my  shawl  off.  Don't  you  think  so  ? " 
she  wheedled. 

"  Perhaps/'  said  Grace. 

"  He  did  nothing  but  talk  about  you,  Grace,"  said 
Mrs.  Maynard,  with  a  sly  look  at  the  other.  "  He' s 
awfully  afraid  of  you,  and  he  kept  asking  about 
you." 

"Louise,"  said  the  other,  gravely  ignoring  these 
facts,  "I  never  undertook  the  care  of  you  socially, 
and  I  object  very  much  to  lecturing  you.  You  are 
nearly  as  old  as  I  am,  and  you  have  had  a  great  deal 
more  experience  of  life  than  I  have."  Mrs.  Maynard 
sighed  deeply  in  assent.  "  But  it  does  n't  seem  to 
have  taught  you  that  if  you  will  provoke  people  to 
talk  of  you,  you  must  expect  criticism.  One  after 
another  you  've  told  nearly  every  woman  in  the  house 
your  affairs,  and  they  have  all  sympathized  with  you 


30  DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

and  pitied  you.  I  shall  have  to  be  plain,  and  tell 
you  that  I  can't  have  them  sneering  and  laughing  at 
any  one  who  is  my  guest.  I  can't  let  you  defy  pub- 
lic opinion  here." 

"  Why,  Grace,"  said  Mrs.  Maynard,  buoyed  above 
offence  at  her  friend's  words  by  her  consciousness  of 
the  point  she  was  about  to  make,  "  you  defy  public 
opinion  yourself  a  good  deal  more  than  I  do,  every 
minute." 

"  I  ?  How  do  I  defy  it  ? "  demanded  Grace  in- 
dignantly. 

"  By  being  a  doctor." 

Grace  opened  her  lips  to  speak,  but  she  was  not  a 
ready  person,  and  she  felt  the  thrust.  Before  she 
could  say  anything  Mrs.  Maynard  went  on :  "  There 
is  n't  one  of  them  that  does  n't  think  you  're  much 
more  scandalous  than  if  you  were  the  greatest  flirt 
alive.  But  /  don't  mind  them,  and  why  should 
you  ?  " 

The  serious  girl  whom  she  addressed  was  in  that 
helpless  subjection  to  the  truth  in  which  so  many 
New  England  women  pass  their  lives.  She  could  not 
deny  the  truth  which  lurked  in  the  exaggeration  of 
these  words,  and  it  unnerved  her,  as  the  fact  that  she 
was  doing  what  the  vast  majority  of  women  con- 
sidered unwomanly  always  unnerved  her  when  she 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  31 

suffered  herself  to  think  of  it.  "  You  are  right, 
Louise,"  she  said  meekly  and  sadly.  "  They  think 
as  well  of  you  as  they  do  of  me." 

"Yes,  that's  just  what  I  said  /"  cried  Mrs.  May- 
nard,  glad  of  her  successful  argument. 

But  however  disabled,  her  friend  resumed  :  "  The 
only  safe  way  for  you  is  to  take  the  ground  that  so 
long  as  you  wear  your  husband's  name  you  must 
honor  it,  no  matter  how  cruel  and  indifferent  to  you 
he  has  been." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Mrs.  Maynard  ruefully,  "  of 
course." 

"  I  mean  that  you  must  n't  even  have  the  appear- 
ance of  liking  admiration,  or  what  you  call  atten- 
tions. It 's  wicked." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  murmured  the  culprit. 

"  You  have  been  brought  up  to  have  such  different 
ideas  of  divorce  from  what  I  have,"  continued  Grace, 
"  that  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  had  any  right  to  advise  you 
about  what  you  are  to  do  after  you  gain  your 
suit." 

"  I  shall  not  want  to  get  married  again  for  one 
while  ;  I  know  that  much,"  Mrs.  Maynard  interpo- 
lated self-righteously. 

"  But  till  you  do  gain  it,  you  ought  not  to  regard  it 
as  emancipating  you  in  the  slightest  degree." 


32  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  No,"  came  in  sad  assent  from  the  victim  of  the 
law's  delays. 

"  And  I  want  you  to  promise  me  that  you  won't  go 
walking  with  Mr.  Libby  any  more  ;  and  that  you 
won't  even  see  him  alone,  after  this." 

"  Why,  but  Grace !  "  cried  Mrs.  Maynard,  as  much 
in  amazement  as  in  annoyance.  "You  don't  seem  to 
understand  !  Have  n't  I  told  you  he  was  a  friend  of 
the  family  ?  He 's  quite  as  much  Mr.  Mayuard's 
friend  as  he  is  mine.  I  'in  sure,"  she  added,  "  if  I 
asked  Mr.  Libby,  I  should  never  think  of  getting 
divorced.  He  's  all  for  George  ;  and  it 's  as  much  as 
I  can  do  to  put  up  with  him." 

"  No  matter.  That  does  n't  alter  the  appearance  to 
people  here.  I  don't  wish  you  to  go  with  him  alone 
any  more." 

"Well,  Grace,  I  won't,"  said  Mrs.  Maynard  ear- 
nestly. "  I  won't,  indeed.  And  that  makes  me  think  : 
he  wanted  you  to  go  along  this  morning." 

"  To  go  along  ?  Wanted  me  —  What  are  you 
talking  about  ? " 

"  Why,  I  suppose  that 's  his  boat,  out  there,  now." 
Mrs.  Maynard  pointed  to  a  little  craft  just  coming  to 
anchor  inside  the  reef.  "  He  said  he  wanted  me  to 
take  a  sail  with  him,  this  morning ;  and  he  said  he 
would  come  up  and  ask  you,  too.  I  do  hope  you  '11 


DR.    BREEN'S    PRACTICE.  33 

go,  Grace.  It 's  just  as  calm ;  and  he  always  has  a 
man  with  him  to  help  sail  the  boat,  so  there  is  n't  the 
least  danger."  Grace  looked  at  her  in  silent  sorrow, 
and  Mrs.  Maynard  went  on  with  sympathetic  serious- 
ness :  "  Oh  !  there 's  one  thing  I  want  to  ask  you 
about,  Grace :  I  don't  like  to  have  any  concealments 
from  you."  Grace  did  not  speak,  but  she  permitted 
Mrs.  Maynard  to  proceed :  "  Barlow  recommended  it, 
and  he  's  lived  here  a  great  while.  His  brother  took 
it,  and  he  had  the  regular  old  New  England  con- 
sumption. I  thought  I  shouldn't  like  to  try  it  with- 
out your  knowing  it." 

"  Try  it  ?  What  are  you  talking  about,  Louise  ?  " 
"  Why,  whiskey  with  white-pine  chips  in  it." 
Grace  rose,  and  moved  towards  the  door,  with  the 
things  dropping  from  her  lap.  One  of  these  was  a 
spool,  that  rolled  down  the  steps  and  out  upon  the 
sandy  road.  She  turned  to  pursue  it,  and  recovered 
it  at  the  cost  of  dropping  her  scissors  and  thimble 
out  of  opposite  sides  of  her  skirt,  which  she  had 
gathered  up  apronwise  to  hold  her  work.  When  she 
rose  from  the  complicated  difficulty,  in  which  Mrs. 
Maynard  had  amiably  lent  her  aid,  she  confronted 
Mr.  Libby,  who  was  coming  towards  them  from  the 
cliff.  She  gave  him  a  stiff  nod,  and  attempted  to 
move  away  ;  but  in  turning  round  and  about  she  had 


34  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

spun  herself  into  the  folds  of  a  stout  linen  thread  es- 
caping from  its  spool.  These  gyves  not  only  bound 
her  skirts  but  involved  her  feet  in  an  extraordinary 
rnesh,  which  tightened  at  the  first  step  and  brought 
her  to  a  stand-still. 

Mrs.  Maynard  began  to  laugh  and  cough,  as  Mr. 
Libby  came  to  her  friend's  help.  He  got  the  spool  in 
his  hand,  and  walked  around  her  in  the  endeavor  to 
free  her ;  but  in  vain.  She  extended  him  the  scis- 
sors with  the  stern  passivity  of  a  fate.  "  Cut  it,"  she 
commanded,  and  Mr.  Libby  knelt  before  her  and 
obeyed.  "Thanks,"  she  said,  taking  back  the  scis- 
sors ;  and  now  she  sat  down  again,  and  began  delib- 
erately to  put  up  her  work  in  her  handkerchief. 

"  I  '11  go  out  and  get  my  things.  I  won't  be  gone 
half  a  minute,  Mr.  Libby,"  said  Mrs.  Maynard,  with 
her  first  breath,  as  she  vanished  in-doors. 

Mr.  Libby  leaned  against  the  post  lately  occupied  by 
the  factotum  in  his  talk  with  Mrs.  Maynard,  and  looked 
down  at  Grace  as  she  bent  over  her  work.  If  he  wished 
to  speak  to  her.  and  was  wavering  as  to  the  appro- 
priate style  of  address  for  a  handsome  girl,  who  was  at 
once  a  young  lady  and  a  physician,  she  spared  him 
the  agony  of  a  decision  by  looking  up  at  him  suddenly. 

"  I  hope,"  he  faltered,  "  that  you  feel  like  a  sail, 
this  morning  ?  Did  Mrs.  Maynard  "  — 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  35 

"  I  shall  have  to  excuse  myself,"  answered  Grace, 
with  a  conscience  against  saying  she  was  sorry.  "  I 
am  a  very  bad  sailor." 

"  Well,  so  am  I,  for  that  matter,"  said  Mr.  Libby. 
"  But  it 's  smooth  as  a  pond,  to-day." 

Grace  made  no  direct  response,  and  he  grew  visibly 
uncomfortable  under  the  cold  abstraction  of  the  gaze 
with  which  she  seemed  to  look  through  him.  "  Mrs. 
Maynard  tells  me  you  came  over  with  her  from  Eu- 
rope." 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  cried  the  young  man,  the  light  of 
pleasant  recollection  kindling  in  his  gay  eyes.  "  We 
had  a  good  time.  Maynard  was  along :  he 's  a  first- 
rate  fellow.  I  wish  he  were  here." 

"  Yes,"  said  Grace,  "  I  wish  so,  too."  She  did  not 
know  what  to  make  of  this  frankness  of  the  young 
man's,  and  she  did  not  know  whether  to  consider  him 
very  depraved  or  very  innocent.  In  her  question  she 
continued  to  stare  at  him,  without  being  aware  of  the 
embarrassment  to  which  she  was  putting  him. 

"  I  heard  of  Mrs.  Maynard's  being  here,  and  I 
thought  I  should  find  him,  too.  I  came  over  yester- 
day to  get  him  to  go  into  the  woods  with  us." 

Grace  decided  that  this  was  mere  effrontery.  "It 
is  a  pity  that  he  is  not  here,"  she  said ;  and  though  it 
ought  to  have  been  possible  for  her  to  go  on  and 


36  DR.    BREEN'S    PRACTICE. 

rebuke  the  young  fellow  for  bestowing  upon  Mrs. 
Maynard  the  comradeship  intended  for  her  husband, 
it  was  not  so.  She  could  only  look  severely  at  him, 
and  trust  that  he  might  conceive  the  intention  which 
she  could  not  express.  She  rebelled  against  the  con- 
vention and  against  her  own  weakness,  which  would 
not  let  her  boldly  interfere  in  what  she  believed  a 
wrong ;  she  had  defied  society  in  the  mass,  but  here, 
with  this  man,  whom  as  an  atom  of  the  mass  she 
would  have  despised,  she  was  powerless. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  him  ? "  Libby  asked,  perhaps 
clinging  to  Maynard  because  he  was  a  topic  of  con- 
versation in  default  of  which  there  might  be  nothing 
to  say. 

"  No,"  answered  Grace. 

"He's  funny.  He's  got  lots  of  that  Western 
humor,  and  he  tells  a  story  better  than  any  man  I 
ever  saw.  There  was  one  story  of  his  "  — 

"  I  have  no  sense  of  humor,"  interrupted  Grace 
impatiently.  "  Mr.  Libby,"  she  broke  out,  "  I  'in  sorry 
that  you  Ve  asked  Mrs.  Maynard  to  take  a  sail  witli 
you.  The  sea  air  "  —  she  reddened  with  the  shame  of 
not  being  able  to  proceed  without  this  wretched  sub- 
terfuge —  "  won't  do  her  any  good." 

"Then,"  said  the  young  man,  "you  must  n't  let 
her  go." 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  37 

"  I  don't  choose  to  forbid  her,"  Grace  began. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  broke  in.  "  I'll  be  back  in 
a  moment." 

He  turned,  and  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  over 
which  he  vanished,  and  he  did  not  reappear  till  Mrs. 
Maynard  had  rejoined  Grace  on  the  piazza. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  mind  its  being  a  little  rough, 
Mrs.  Maynard,"  he  said,  breathing  quickly.  "  Adams 
thinks  we  're  going  to  have  it  pretty  fresh  before  we 
get  back." 

"  Indeed,  I  don't  want  to  go,  then ! "  cried  Mrs. 
Maynard,  in  petulant  disappointment,  letting  her 
wraps  fall  upon  a  chair. 

Mr.  Libby  looked  at  'Grace,  who  haughtily  rejected 
a  part  in  the  conspiracy.  "  I  wish  you  to  go,  Louise," 
she  declared  indignantly.  "  I  will  take  the  risk  of  all 
the  harm  that  conies  to  you  from  the  bad  weather." 
She  picked  up  the  shawls,  and  handed  them  to  Mr. 
Libby,  on  whom  her  eyes  blazed  their  contempt  and 
wonder.  It  cost  a  great  deal  of  persuasion  and  in- 
sistence now  to  make  Mrs.  Maynard  go,  and  he  left 
all  this  to  Grace,  not  uttering  a  word  till  he  gave  Mrs. 
Maynard  his  hand  to  help  her  down  the  steps.  Then 
he  said,  "  Well,  I  wonder  what  Miss  Breen  does  want." 

"  I  'm  sure  /  don't  know,"  said  the  other.  "  At 
first  she  did  n't  want  me  to  go,  this  morning,  and 


38  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

now  she  makes  me.  I  do  hope  it  is  n't  going  to  be  a 
storm." 

"I  don't  believe  it  is.  A  little  fresh,  perhaps.  I 
thought  you  might  be  seasick." 

"  Don't  you  remember  ?  I  'm  never  seasick !  That 's 
one  of  the  worst  signs." 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  If  I  could  be  thoroughly  seasick  once,  it  would  be 
the  best  thing  I  could  do." 

"  Is  she  capricious  ? "  asked  Mr.  Libby. 

"  Grace  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Maynard,  releasing  her  hand 
half-way  down  the  steps,  in  order  to  enjoy  her  aston- 
ishment without  limitation  of  any  sort.  "  Grace  ca- 
pricious ! " 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Libby,  "that's  what  I  thought. 
Better  take  my  hand  again,"  and  he  secured  that  of 
Mrs.  Maynard,  who  continued  her  descent.  "  I  sup- 
pose I  don't  understand  her  exactly.  Perhaps  she 
did  n't  like  my  not  calling  her  Doctor.  I  did  n't  call 
her  anything.  I  suppose  she  thought  I  was  dodging 
it.  I  was.  I  should  have  had  to  call  her  Miss 
Breen,  if  I  called  her  anything." 

"  She  would  n't  have  cared.  She  is  n't  a  doctor  for 
the  name  of  it." 

"  I  suppose  you  think  it 's  a  pity  ? "  he  asked. 

"  What  ? " 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  39 

"  Her  being  a  doctor." 

"  I  '11  tell  her  you  say  so." 

"  No,  don't.     But  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  would  n't  want  to  be  one,"  said  Mrs.  May- 
nard  candidly. 

"  I  suppose  it 's  all  right,  if  she  does  it  from  a  sense 
of  duty,  as  you  say,"  he  suggested. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she 's  all  right.  And  she 's  just  as  much 
of  a  girl  as  anybody,  though  she  don't  know  it,"  Mrs. 
Maynard  added  astutely.  "  Why  would  n't  she  come 
with  us  ?  Were  you  afraid  to  ask  her  ?  " 

"  She  said  she  was  n't  a  good  sailor.  Perhaps  she 
thought  we  were  too  young.  She  must  be  older  than 
you." 

"  Yes,  and  you,  too  I "  cried  Mrs.  Maynard,  with 
good-natured  derision. 

"  She  does  n't  look  old,"  returned  Mr.  Libby. 

"  She 's  twenty-eight.     How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  promised  the  census-taker  not  to  tell  till  his  re- 
port came  out." 

"  What  is  the  color  of  her  hair  ?  " 

"  Brown." 

"  And  her  eyes  ?  " 

"I  don't  know" - 

"  You  had  better  look  out,  Mr.  Libby  ! "  said  Mrs. 
Maynard,  putting  her  foot  on  the  ground  at  last. 


40  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

They  walked  across  the  beach  to  where  his  dory  lay, 
and  Grace  saw  him  pulling  out  to  the  sail  boat  before 
she  went  in  from  the  piazza.  Then  she  went  to  her 
mother's  room.  The  elderly  lady  was  keeping  in- 
doors, upon  a  theory  that  the  dew  was  on,  and  that  it 
was  not  wholesome  to  go  out  till  it  was  off.  She 
asked,  according  to  her  habit  when  she  met  her  daugh- 
ter alone,  "  Where  is  Mrs.  Maynard  ? " 

"  Why  do  you  always  ask  that,  mother  ?  "  retorted 
Grace,  with  her  growing  irritation  in  regard  to  her 
patient  intensified  by  the  recent  interview.  "  I  can't 
be  with  her  the  whole  time." 

"  I  wish  you  could,"  said  Mrs.  Breen,  with  non-com- 
mittal suggestion. 

Grace  could  not  keep  herself  from  demanding, 
"  Why  ? "  as  her  mother  expected,  though  she  knew 
why  too  well. 

"  Because  she  would  n't  be  in  mischief  then,"  re- 
turned Mrs.  Breen. 

"  She 's  in  mischief  now  ! "  cried  the  girl  vehemently ; 
"  and  it 's  my  fault !  I  did  it.  I  sent  her  off  to  sail 
with  that  ridiculous  Mr.  Libby  !  " 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Breen,  in  her  turn,  with  un- 
broken tranquillity. 

"  Because  I  am  a  fool,  and  I  could  n't  help  him  lie 
out  of  his  engagement  with  her." 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  41 

"  Did  n't  he  want  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Yes.  They  both  wanted  me  to  go 
with  them.  Simpletons  !  And  while  she  had  gone 
up- stairs  for  her  wraps  I  managed  to  make  him  un- 
derstand that  I  did  n't  wish  her  to  go,  either ;  and  he 
ran  down  to  his  boat,  and  came  back  with  a  story 
about  its  going  to  be  rough,  and  looked  at  me  per- 
fectly delighted,  as  if  I  should  be  pleased.  Of  course, 
then,  I  made  him  take  her." 

"  And  is  n't  it  going  to  be  rough  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Breen. 

"'Why,  mother,  the  sea 's  like  glass." 

Mrs.  Breen  turned  the  subject.  "  You  would  have 
done  better^  Grace,  to  begin  as  you  had  planned. 
Your  going  to  Fall  Eiver,  and  beginning  practice  there 
among  those  factory  children,  was  the  only  thing  that 
I  ever  entirely  liked  in  your  taking  up  medicine. 
There  was  sense  in  that.  You  had  studied  specially 
for  it.  You  could  have  done  good  there." 

"Oh,  yes,"  sighed  the  girl,  "I  know.  But  what 
was  I  to  do,  when  she  came  to  us,  sick  and  poor  ?  I 
could  n't  turn  my  back  on  her,  especially  after  always 
befriending  her,  as  I  used  to,  at  school,  and  getting 
her  to  depend  on  me." 

"I  don't  see  how  you  ever  liked  her,"  said  Mrs.  Breen. 

"I  never  did  like  her.     I  pitied  her.     I  always 


42  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

thought  her  a  poor,  flimsy  little  thing.  But  that 
ought  n't  to  make  any  difference,  if  she  was  in  trouble." 

"  No,"  Mrs.  Breen  conceded,  and  in  compensation 
Grace  admitted  something  more  on  her  side  :  "  She 's 
worse  than  she  used  to  be,  —  sillier.  I  don't  suppose 
she  has  a  wrong  thought ;  but  she  's  as  light  as  foam." 

"  Oh,  it  is  n't  the  wicked  people  who  do  the  harm," 
said  Mrs.  Breen. 

"  I  was  sure  that  this  air  would  be  everything  for 
her ;  and  so  it  would,  with  any  ordinary  case.  But 
a  child  would  take  better  care  of  itself.  I  have  to 
watch  her  every  minute,  like  a  child ;  and  I  never 
know  what  she  will  do  next." 

"  Yes  ;  it 's  a  burden,"  said  Mrs.  Breen,  with  a  sym- 
pathy which  she  had  not  expressed  before.  "And 
you're  a  good  girl,  Grace,"  she  added  in  very  un- 
wonted recognition. 

The  grateful  tears  stole  into  the  daughter's  eyes, 
but  she  kept  a  firm  face,  even  after  they  began  to 
follow  one  another  down  her  cheeks.  "  And  if  Louise 
had  n't  come,  you  know,  mother,  that  I  was  anxious 
to  have  some  older  person  with  me  when  I  went  to 
Fall  River.  I  was  glad  to  have  this  re  spite ;  it  gives 
me  a  chance  to  think.  I  felt  a  little  timid  about 
beginning  alone." 

"  A  man  would  n't,"  Mrs.  Breen  remarked. 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  43 

"No.  I  am  not  a  man.  I  have  accepted  that, 
with  all  the  rest.  I  don't  rebel  against  being  a 
woman.  If  I  had  been  a  man,  I  should  n't  have 
studied  medicine.  You  know  that.  I  wished  to  be 
a  physician  because  I  was  a  woman,  and  because  — 
because  —  I  had  failed  where  —  other  women's  hopes 
are."  She  said  it  out  firmly,  and  her -mother  softened 
to  her  in  proportion  to  the  girl's  own  strength.  "  I 
might  have  been  just  a  nurse.  You  know  I  should 
have  been  willing  to  be  that,  but  I  thought  I  could 
be  something  more.  But  it 's  no  use  talking."  She 
added,  after  an  interval,  in  which  her  mother  rocked 
to  and  fro  with  a  gentle  motion  that  searched  the 
joints  of  her  chair,  and  brought  out  its  most  plaintive 
squeak  in  pathetic  iteration,  and  watched  Grace,  as 
she  sat  looking  seaward  through  the  open  window,  "  I 
think  it's  rather  hard,  mother,  that  you  should  be 
always  talking  as  if  I  wished  to  take  my  calling  man- 
nishly.  All  that  I  intend  is  not  to  take  it  woman- 
ishly; but  as  for  not  being  a  woman  about  it,  or 
about  anything,  that 's  simply  impossible.  A  woman 
is  reminded  of  her  insufficiency  to  herself  every  hour 
of  the  day.  And  it 's  always  a  man  that  comes  to  her 
help.  I  dropped  some  things  out  of  my  lap  down  there, 
and  by  the  time  I  had  gathered  them  up  I  was  wound 
round  and  round  with  linen  thread  so  that  I  could  n't 


44  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

move  a  step,  and  Mr.  Libby  cut  me  loose.  I  could 
have  done  it  myself,  but  it  seemed  right  and  natural 
that  he  should  do  it.  I  dare  say  he  plumed  himself 
upon  his  service  to  me,  —  that  would  be  natural,  too. 
I  have  things  enough  to  keep  me  meek,  mother  ! " 

She  did  not  look  round  at  Mrs.  Breen,  who  said,  "  I 
think  you  are  morbid  about  it." 

"Yes.  And  I  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  whatever  people  think  of  Louise's  giddiness,  I  'm 
a  great  deal  more  scandalous  to  them  than  she  is 
simply  because  I  wish  to  do  some  good  in  the  world, 
in  a  way  that  women  have  n't  done  it,  usually." 

"  Now  you  are  morbid." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Talk  about  men  being  obstacles  !  It 's 
other  women  !  There  is  n't  a  woman  in  the  house 
that  would  n't  sooner  trust  herself  in  the  hands  of  the 
stupidest  boy  that  got  his  diploma  with  me  than  she 
would  in  mine.  Louise  knows  it,  and  she  feels  that 
she  has  a  claim  upon  me  in  being  my  patient.  And 
I  've  no  influence  with  her  about  her  conduct  because 
she  understands  perfectly  well  that  they  all  consider 
me  much  worse.  She  prides  herself  on  doing  me 
justice.  She  patronizes  me.  She  tells  me  that  I  'm 
just  as  nice  as  if  I  hadn't  'been  through  all  that."' 
Grace  rose,  and  a  laugh,  which  was  half  a  sob,  broke 
from  her. 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  45 

Mrs.  Breen  could  not  feel  the  humor  of  the  predic- 
ament. "  She  puts  you  in  a  false  position." 

"  I  must  go  and  see  where  that  poor  little  wretch 
of  a  child  is,"  said  Grace,  going  out  of  the  room.  She 
returned  in  an  hour,  and  asked  her  mother  for  the 
arnica.  "  Bella  has  had  a  bump,"  she  explained. 

"  Why,  have  you  been  all  this  time  looking  her 
up?" 

"No,  I  couldn't  find  her,  and  I've  been  read- 
ing. Barlow  has  just  brought  her  in.  He  could  find 
her.  She  fell  out  of  a  tree,  and  she's  frightfully 
bruised." 

She  was  making  search  on  a  closet  shelf  as  she 
talked.  When  she  reappeared  with  the  bottle  in  her 
hand,  her  mother  asked,  "  Is  n't  it  very  hot  and 
close  ? " 

"  Very,"  said  Grace. 

"  I  should  certainly  think  they  would  perish,"  said 
Mrs.  Breen,  hazarding  the  pronoun,  with  a  woman's 
confidence  that  her  interlocutor  would  apply  it  cor- 
rectly. 

When  Grace  had  seen  Bella  properly  bathed  and 
brown-papered,  and  in  the  way  to  forgetfulness  of  her 
wounds  in  sleep,  she  came  down  to  the  piazza,  and 
stood  looking  out  to  sea.  The  ladies  appeared  one  by 
one  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  and  came  up,  languidly 


46  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

stringing  their  shawls  after  them,  or  clasping  their 
novels  to  their  bosoms. 

"  There  is  n't  a  breath  down  there,"  they  said,  one 
after  another.  The  last  one  added,  "  Barlow  says 
it 's  the  hottest  day  he  's  ever  seen  here." 

In  a  minute  Barlow  himself  appeared  at  the  head 
of  the  steps  with  the  ladies'  remaining  wraps,  and 
confirmed  their  report  in  person.  "I  tell  you,"  he 
said,  wiping  his  forehead,  "  it 's  a  ripper." 

"  It  must  be  an  awful  day  in  town,"  said  one  of 
the  ladies,  fanning  herself  with  a  newspaper. 

"  Is  that  to-day's  Advertiser,  Mrs.  Alger  ? "  asked 
another. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no !  yesterday's.  We  sha'n't  have  to- 
day's till  this  afternoon.  It  shows  what  a  new  arrival 
you  are,  Mrs.  Scott  —  your  asking." 

"  To  be  sure.  But  it 's  such  a  comfort  being  where 
you  can  see  the  Advertiser  the  same  morning.  I  al- 
ways look  at  the  Weather  Eeport  the  first  thing.  I 
like  to  know  what  the  weather  is  going  to  be." 

"You  can't  at  Jocelyn's.  You  can  only  know 
what  it 's  been." 

"  Well,"  Barlow  interposed,  jealous  for  Jocelyn's, 
"  you  can  most  al'ays  tell  by  the  look  o'  things." 

"  Yes,"  said  one  of  the  ladies ;  "  but  I  'd  rather 
trust  the  Weather  Report.  It 's  wonderful  how  it 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  47 

comes  true.  I  don't  think  there  's  anything  that  you 
miss  more  in  Europe  than  our  American  Weather 
Keport." 

"  I  'm  sure  you  miss  the  oysters,"  said  another. 

"  Yes,"  the  first  admitted,  "  you  do  miss  the  oysters. 
It  was  the  last  of  the  E  months  when  we  landed  in 
New  York  ;  and  do  you  know  what  we  did  the  first 
tiling  ?  We  drove  to  Fulton  Market,  and  had  one  of 
those  Fulton  Market  broils  !  My  husband  said  we 
should  have  had  it  if  it  had  been  July.  He  used  to 
dream  of  the  American  oysters  when  we  were  in 
Europe.  Gentlemen  are  so  fond  of  them." 

Barlow,  from  scanning  the  heavens,  turned  round 
and  faced  the  company,  which  had  drooped  in  several 
attitudes  of  exhaustion  on  the  benching  of  the  piazza. 
"  Well,  I  can  most  al'ays  tell  about  Jocelyn's  as  good 
as  the  Weather  Eeport.  I  told  Mrs.  Maynard  here 
this  mornin'  that  the  fog  was  goin'  to  burn  off." 

"Bum  off  ? "  cried  Mrs.  Alger.  "  I  should  think  it 
had  !  "  The  other  ladies  laughed. 

"And  you  '11  see,"  added  Barlow,  "that  the  wind  '11 
change  at  noon,  and  we  '11  have  it  cooler." 

"  If  it 's  as  hot  on  the  water  as  it  is  here,"  said  Mrs. 
Scott,  "  I  should  think  those  people  would  get  a  sun- 
stroke." 

"  Well,  so  should  /,  Mrs.  Scott,"  cordially  exclaimed 


48  DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

a  little  fat  lady,  as  if  here  at  last  were  an  opinion  in 
which  all  might  rejoice  to  sympathize. 

"  It 's  never  so  hot  on  the  water,  Mrs.  Merritt,"  said 
Mrs.  Alger,  witli  the  instructiveness  of  an  old  habitude. 

"  Well,  not  at  Jocelyn's,"  suggested  Barlow.  Mrs. 
Alger  stopped  fanning  herself  with  her  newspaper, 
and  looked  at  him.  Upon  her  motion,  the  other 
ladies  looked  at  Barlow.  Doubtless  he  felt  that  his 
social  acceptability  had  ceased  with  his  immediate 
usefulness.  But  he  appeared  resolved  to  carry  it  off 
easily.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  I  must  go  and 
pick  my  peas." 

No  one  said  anything  to  this.  When  the  factotum 
had  disappeared  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  Mrs. 
Alger  turned  her  head  aside,  and  glanced  downward 
with  an  air  of  fatigue.  In  this  manner  Barlow  was 
dismissed  from  the  ladies'  minds. 

"  I  presume,"  said  young  Mrs.  Scott,  with  a  defer- 
ential glance  at  Grace,  "that  the  sun  is  good  for  a 
person  with  lung-difficulty." 

Grace  silently  refused  to  consider  herself  appealed 
to,  and  Mrs.  Merritt  said,  "  Better  than  the  moon,  I 
should  think." 

Some  of  the  others  tittered,  but  Grace  looked  up  at 
Mrs.  Merritt  and  said,  "  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Maynard's 
case  is  so  bad  that  she  need  be  afraid  of  either." 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  49 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  it!"  replied  the  other. 
She  looked  round,  but  was  unable  to  form  a  party. 
By  twos  or  threes  they  might  have  liked  to  take  Mrs. 
Maynard  to  pieces  ;  but  no  one  cares  to  make  unkind 
remarks  before  a  whole  company  of  people.  Some  of 
the  ladies  even  began  to  say  pleasant  things  about 
Mr.  Libby,  as  if  he  were  Grace's  friend. 

"  I  always  like  to  see  these  fair  men  when  they  get 
tanned,"  said  Mrs.  Alger.  "  Their  blue  eyes  look  so 
very  blue.  And  the  backs  of  their  necks — just  like 
my  boys  ! " 

"Do  you  admire  such  a  very  fighting-clip  as  Mr. 
Libby  has  on  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Scott. 

"It  must  be  nice  for  summer,"  returned  the  elder 
lady. 

"  Yes,  it  certainly  must,"  admitted  the  younger. 

"  Beally,"  said  another,  "  I  wish  /  could  go  in  the 
fighting-clip.  One  doesn't  know  what  to  do  with 
one's  hair  at  the  sea-side  ;  it 's  always  in  the  way." 

"  Your  hair  would  be  a  public  loss,  Mrs.  Frost," 
said  Mrs.  Alger.  The  others  looked  at  her  hair,  as  if 
they  had  seen  it  now  for  the  first  time. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Mrs.  Frost,  in  a  sort  of 
flattered  coo. 

"  Oh,  don't  have  it  cut  off ! "  pleaded  a  young  girl, 
coining  up  and  taking  the  beautiful  mane,  hanging 


50  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

loose  after  the  bath,  into  her  hand.  Mrs.  Frost  put 
her  arm  round  the  girl's  waist,  and  pulled  her  down 
against  her  shoulder.  Upon  reflection  she  also  kissed 
her. 

Through  a  superstition,  handed  down  from  mother 
to  daughter,  that  it  is  uncivil  and  even  unkind  not  to 
keep  saying  something,  they  went  on  talking  vapid- 
ities, where  the  same  number  of  men,  equally  vacu- 
ous, would  have  remained  silent ;  and  some  of  them 
complained  that  the  nervous  strain  of  conversation 
took  away  all  the  good  their  bath  had  done  them. 
Miss  Gleason,  who  did  not  bathe,  was  also  not  a 
talker.  She  kept  a  bright-eyed  reticence,  but  was 
apt  to  break  out  in  rather  enigmatical  flashes,  which 
resolved  the  matter  in  hand  into  an  abstraction,  and 
left  the  others  with  the  feeling  that  she  was  a  person 
of  advanced  ideas,  but  that,  while  rejecting  historical 
Christianity,  she  believed  in  a  God  of  Love.  This 
Deity  was  said,  upon  closer  analysis,  to  have  proved 
to  be  a  God  of  Sentiment,  and  Miss  Gleason  was  her- 
self a  hero-worshiper,  or,  more  strictly  speaking,  a 
heroine-worshiper.  At  present  Dr.  Breen  was  her 
cult,  and  she  was  apt  to  lie  in  wait  for  her  idol,  to 
beam  upon  it  with  her  suggestive  eyes,  and  evidently 
to  expect  it  to  say  or  do  something  remarkable,  but 
not  to  suffer  anything  like  disillusion  or  disappoint- 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  51 

ment  in  any  event.  She  would  sometimes  offer  it 
suddenly  a  muddled  depth  of  sympathy  in  such 
phrases  as,  "  Too  bad ! "  or,  "  I  don't  see  how  you 
keep  up  ! "  and  darkly  insinuate  that  she  appreciated 
all  that  Grace  was  doing.  She  seemed  to  rejoice  in 
keeping  herself  at  a  respectful  distance,  to  which  she 
breathlessly  retired,  as  she  did  now,  after  waylaying 
her  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  and  confidentially  dart- 
ing at  her  the  words,  "I'm  so  glad  you  don't  like 
scandal ! " 


52  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 


III. 


AFTER  dinner  the  ladies  tried  to  get  a  nap,  but 
such  of  them  as  re-appeared  on  the  piazza  later 
agreed  that  it  was  perfectly  useless.  They  tested 
every  corner  for  a  breeze,  but  the  wind  had  fallen 
dead,  and  the  vast  sweep  of  sea  seemed  to  smoulder 
under  the  sun.  "  This  is  what  Mr.  Barlow  calls  hav- 
ing it  cooler,"  said  Mrs.  Alger. 

"There  are  some  clouds  that  look  like  thunder- 
heads  in  the  west,"  said  Mrs.  Frost,  returning  from 
an  excursion  to  the  part  of  the  piazza  commanding 
that  quarter. 

"  Oh,  it  won't  rain  to-day,"  Mrs.  Alger  decided. 

"  I  thought  there  was  always  a  breeze  at  Joce- 
lyn's,"  Mrs.  Scott  observed,  in  the  critical  spirit  of  a 
recent  arrival. 

"  There  always  is,"  the  other  explained,  "  except 
the  first  week  you  're  here." 

A  little  breath,  scarcely  more  than  a  sentiment  of 
breeze,  made  itself  felt.  "  I  do  believe  the  wind  has 


DR.   BKEEN'S  PRACTICE.  53 

changed/'  said  Mrs.  Frost.  "  It 's  east."  The  others 
owned  one  by  one  that  it  was  so,  and  she  enjoyed  the 
merit  of  a  discoverer ;  but  her  discovery  was  rapidly 
superseded.  The  clouds  mounted  in  the  west,  and 
there  came  a  time  when  the  ladies  disputed  whether 
they  had  heard  thunder  or  not :  a  faction  contended 
for  the  bowling-alley,  and  another  faction  held  for  a 
wagon  passing  over  the  bridge  just  before  you  reached 
Jocelyn's.  But  those  who  were  faithful  to  the  theory 
of  thunder  carried  the  day  by  a  sudden  crash  that 
broke  over  the  forest,  and,  dying  slowly  away  among 
the  low  hills,  left  them  deeply  silent. 

"  Some  one,"  said  Mrs.  Alger,  "  ought  to  go  for 
those  children."  On  this  it  appeared  that  there  were 
two  minds  as  to  where  the  children  were,  —  whether 
on  the  beach  or  in  the  woods. 

"  Was  n't  that  thunder,  Grace  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Breen, 
with  the  accent  by  which  she  implicated  her  daughter 
in  whatever  happened. 

"  Yes,"  said  Grace,  from  where  she  sat  at  her  win- 
dow, looking  seaward,  and  waiting  tremulously  for 
her  mother's  next  question. 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Maynard  ?  " 

"  She  is  n't  back,  yet." 

"  Then,"  said  Mrs.  Breen,  "  he  really  did  expect 
rough  weather." 


54  DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

"He  must,"  returned  Grace,  in  a  guilty  whisper. 

"It's  a  pity,"  remarked  her  mother,  "that  you 
made  them  go." 

"  Yes."  She  rose,  and,  stretching  herself  far  out  of 
the  window,  searched  the  inexorable  expanse  of  sea. 
It  had  already  darkened  at  the  verge,  and  the  sails  of 
some  fishing-craft  flecked  a  livid  wall  with  their 
white,  but  there  was  no  small  boat  in  sight. 

"  If  anything  happened  to  them,"  her  mother  con- 
tinued, "  I  should  feel  terribly  for  you." 

"  I  should  feel  terribly  for  myself,"  Grace  responded, 
with  her  eyes  still  seaward. 

"  Where  do  you  think  they  went  ? " 

"  I  did  n't  ask,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  would  n't,"  she 
added,  in  devotion  to  the  whole  truth. 

"  Well,  it  is  all  of  the  same  piece,"  said  Mrs.  Breen. 
Grace  did  not  ask  what  the  piece  was.  She  remained 
staring  at  the  dark  wall  across  the  sea,  and  spiritually 
confronting  her  own  responsibility,  no  atom  of  which 
she  rejected.  She  held  herself  in  every  way  respon- 
sible, —  for  doubting  that  poor  young  fellow's  word, 
and  then  for  forcing  that  reluctant  creature  to  go  with 
him,  and  forbidding  by  her  fierce  insistence  any  at- 
tempt of  his  at  explanation  ;  she  condemned  herself 
to  perpetual  remorse  with  even  greater  zeal  than  her 
mother  would  have  sentenced  her,  and  she  would  not 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  55 

permit  herself  any  respite  when  a  little  sail,  which 
she  knew  for  theirs,  blew  round  the  point.  It 
seemed  to  fly  along  just  on  the  hither  side  of  that 
mural  darkness,  skilfully  tacking  to  reach  the  end  of 
the  reef  before  the  wall  pushed  it  on  the  rocks.  Sud- 
denly, the  long  low  stretch  of  the  reef  broke  into 
white  foam,  and  then  passed  from  sight  under  the 
black  wall,  against  which  the  little  sail  still  flickered. 
The  girl  fetched  a  long,  silent  breath.  They  were  in- 
side the  reef,  in  comparatively  smooth  water,  and  to 
her  ignorance  they  were  safe.  But  the  rain  would  be 
coming  in  another  moment,  and  Mrs.  Maynard  would 
be  drenched  ;  and  Grace  would  be  to  blame  for  her 
death.  She  ran  to  the  closet,  and  pulled  down  her 
mother's  india-rubber  cloak  and  her  own,  and  fled  out- 
of-doors,  to  be  ready  on  the  beach  with  the  wrap, 
against  their  landing.  She  met  the  other  ladies  on 
the  stairs  and  in  the  hall,  and  they  clamored  at  her  ; 
but  she  glided  through  them  like  something  in  a 
dream,  and  then  she  heard  a  shouting  in  her  ear,  and 
felt  herself  caught  and  held  up  against  the  wind. 
"  Where  in  land  be  you  goin?,  Miss  Breen  ? " 
Barlow,  in  a  long,  yellow  oil-skin  coat  and  sou'- 
wester hat,  kept  pushing  her,  forward  to  the  edge  of 
the  cliff,  as  he  asked. 

"  I  'm  going  down  to  meet  them  ! "  she  screamed. 


56  DR.   BREEX'S  PRACTICE. 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  will  meet  'era.  But  /  guess  you 
better  go  back  to  the  house.  Hey  ?  Wunt  ?  Well, 
come  along,  then,  if  they  ain't  past  doctorin'  by  the 
time  they  git  ashore  !  Pretty  well  wrapped  up,  any 
way ! "  he  roared ;  and  she  perceived  that  she  had 
put  on  her  waterproof  and  drawn  the  hood  over  her 
head. 

Those  steps  to  the  beach  had  made  her  giddy  when 
she  descended  with  leisure  for  such  dismay  ;  but  now, 
with  the  tempest  flattening  her  against  the  stair-case, 
and  her  gossamer  clutching  and  clinging  to  every  sur- 
face, and  again  twisting  itself  about  her  limbs,  she 
clambered  down  as  swiftly  and  recklessly  as  Barlow 
himself,  and  followed  over  the  beach  beside  the  men 
who  were  pulling  a  boat  down  the  sand  at  a  run. 

"  Let  me  get  in  ! "  she  screamed.  "  I  wish  to  go 
with  you ! " 

"  Take  hold  of  the  girl,  Barlow ! "  shouted  one  of 
the  men.  "She's  crazy." 

He  tumbled  himself  with  four  others  into  the  boat, 
and  they  all  struck  out  together  through  the  froth  and 
swirl  of  the  waves.  She  tried  to  free  herself  from 
Barlow,  so  as  to  fling  the  waterproof  into  the  boat. 
"  Take  this,  then.  She  '11  be  soaked  through  !  "  ' 

Barlow  broke  into  a  grim  laugh.  "  She  won't  need 
it,  except  for  a  windm'-sheet '"  he  roared.  "Don't 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  57 

you  see  the  boat 's  drivin'  right  on  t'  the  sand  ?  She  '11 
be  kindlin'  wood  in  a  minute." 

"  But  they  're  inside  the  reef !  They  can  come  to 
anchor!"  she  shrieked  in  reply.  He  answered  her 
with  a  despairing  grin  and  a  shake  of  the  head. 
"  They  can't.  What  has  your  boat  gone  out  for, 
then?" 

"  To  pick  'em  up  out  the  sea.  But  they  '11  never 
git  'em  alive.  Look  how  she  slaps  her  boom  int'  the 
water !  Well !  He  doos  know  how  to  handle  a  boat ! " 

It  was  Libby  at  the  helm,  as  she  could  dimly  see, 
but  what  it  was  in  his  management  that  moved  Bar- 
low's praise  she  could  not  divine.  The  boat  seemed 
to  be  aimed  for  the  shore,  and  to  be  rushing,  head  on, 
upon  the  beach ;  her  broad  sail  was  blown  straight 
out  over  her  bow,  and  flapped  there  like  a  banner, 
while  the  heavy  boom  hammered  the  water  as  she 
rose  and  fell.  A  jagged  line  of  red  seamed  the  breast 
of  the  dark  wall  behind  ;  a  rending  crash  came,  and 
as  if  fired  upon,  the  boat  flung  up  her  sail,  as  a  wild 
fowl  flings  up  its  wing  when  shot,  and  lay  tossing 
keel  up,  on  the  top  of  the  waves.  It  all  looked 
scarcely  a  stone's  cast  away,  though  it  was  vastly 
farther.  A  figure  was  seen  to  drag  itself  up  out  of 
the  sea,  and  fall  over  into  the  boat,  hovering  and 
pitching  in  the  surrounding  welter,  and  struggling  to 


58  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

get  at  two  other  figures  clinging  to  the  wreck.  Sud- 
denly the  men  in  the  boat  pulled  away,  and  Grace 
uttered  a  cry  of  despair  and  reproach :  "  Why,  they  're 
leaving  it,  they  're  leaving  it ! " 

"  Don't  expect  'em  to  tow  the  wreck  ashore  in  this 
weather,  do  ye  ? "  shouted  Barlow.  "  They  've  got 
the  folks  all  safe  enough.  I  tell  ye  I  see  'em ! "  he 
cried,  at  a  wild  look  of  doubt  in  her  eyes.  "  Euu  to 
the  house,  there,  and  get  everything  in  apple-pie 
order.  There 's  goin'  to  be  a  chance  for  some  of  your 
doctor'n',  now,  if  ye  know  how  to  fetch  folks  to." 

It  was  the  little  house  on  the  beach,  which  the 
children  were  always  prying  and  peering  into,  trying 
the  lock,  and  wondering  what  the  boat  was  like,  which 
Grace  had  seen  launched.  Now  the  door  yielded  to 
her,  and  within  she  found  a  fire  kindled  in  the  stove, 
blankets  laid  in  order,  and  flasks  of  brandy  in  readi- 
ness in  the  cupboard.  She  put  the  blankets  to  heat 
for  instant  use,  and  prepared  for  the  work  of  resuscita- 
tion. When  she  could  turn  from  them  to  the  door, 
she  met  there  a  procession  that  approached  with  diffi- 
culty, heads  down  and  hustled  by  the  furious  blast 
through  which  the  rain  now  hissed  and  shot.  Barlow 
and  one  of  the  boat's  crew  were  carrying  Mrs.  May- 
nard,  and  bringing  up  the  rear  of  the  huddling  oil-skins 
and  sou' westers  came  Libby,  soaked,  and  dripping  as 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  59 

he  walked.  His  eyes  and  Grace's  encountered  with  a 
mutual  avoidance ;  but  whatever  was  their  sense  of 
blame,  their  victim  had  no  reproaches  to  make  herself. 
She  was  not  in  need  of  restoration.  She  was  perfectly 
alive,  and  apparently  stimulated  by  her  escape  from 
deadly  peril  to  a  vivid  conception  of  the  wrong  that 
had  been  done  her.  If  the  adventure  had  passed  off 
prosperously,  she  was  the  sort  of  woman  to  have 
owned  to  her  friend  that  she  ought  not  to  have 
thought  of  going.  But  the  event  had  obliterated 
these  scruples,  and  she  realized  herself  as  a  hapless 
creature  who  had  been  thrust  on  to  dangers  from 
which  she  would  have  shrunk.  "  Well,  Grace  ! "  she 
began,  with  a  voice  and  look  before  which  the  other 
quailed,  "  I  hope  you  are  satisfied !  All  the  time  I 
was  clinging  to  that  wretched  boat  I  was  wondering 
how  you  would  feel.  Yes,  my  last  tlwughts  were  of 
you.  I  pitied  you.  I  did  n't  see  how  you  could  ever 
have  peace  again  "  — 

"  Hold  on,  Mrs.  Maynard  ! "  cried  Libby.  "  There  's 
no  time  for  that,  now.  What  had  best  be  done,  Miss 
Breen  ?  Had  n't  she  better  be  got  up  to  the  house  ? " 

"  Yes,  by  all  means,"  answered  Grace. 

"You  might  as  well  let  me  die  here,"  Mrs.  May- 
nard protested,  as  Grace  wrapped  the  blankets  round 
her  dripping  dress.  "  I  'm  as  wet  as  I  can  be,  now." 


60  DR.   BREED'S   PRACTICE. 

Libby  began  to  laugh  at  these  inconsequences,  to 
which  he  was  probably  well  used.  "  You  would  n't 
have  time  to  die  here.  And  we  want  to  give  this 
hydropathic  treatment  a  fair  trial.  You  Ve  tried  the 
douche,  and  now  you  're  to  have  the  pack."  He  sum- 
moned two  of  the  boatmen,  who  had  been  consider- 
ately dripping  outside,  in  order  to  leave  the  interior 
to  the  shipwrecked  company,  and  they  lifted  Mrs. 
Maynard,  finally  wrapped  in  Grace's  india-rubber 
cloak,  and  looking  like  some  sort  of  strange,  huge 
chrysalis,  and  carried  her  out  into  the  storm  and  up 
the  steps. 

Grace  followed  last  with  Mr.  Libby,  very  heavy- 
hearted  and  reckless.  She  had  not  only  that  sore 
self-accusal ;  but  the  degradation  of  the  affair,  its  gro- 
tesqueness,  its  spiritual  squalor,  its  utter  graceless- 
ness,  its  entire  want  of  dignity,  were  bitter  as  death 
in  her  proud  soul.  It  was  not  in  this  shameful  guise 
that  she  had  foreseen  the  good  she  was  to  do.  And 
it  had  all  come  through  her  own  wilfulness  and  self- 
righteousness.  The  tears  could  mix  unseen  with  the 
rain  that  drenched  her  face,  but  they  blinded  her,  and 
half-way  up  the  steps  she  stumbled  on  her  skirt,  and 
would  have  fallen,  if  the  young  man  had  not  caught 
her.  After  that,  from  time  to  time  lie  put  his  arm 
about  her,  and  stayed  her  against  the  gusts. 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  61 

Before  they  reached  the  top  he  said,  "  Miss  Breen, 
I  'm  awfully  sorry  for  all  this.  Mrs.  Maynard  will 
be  ashamed  of  what  she  said.  Confound  it !  If 
Maynard  were  only  here  "  — 

"  Why  should  she  be  ashamed  ? "  demanded  Grace. 
"  If  she  had  been  drowned,  I  should  have  murdered 
her,  and  I  'm  responsible  if  anything  happens  to  her, 
-  I  am  to  blame."  She  escaped  from  him,  and  ran 
into  the  house.  He  slunk  round  the  piazza  to  the 
kitchen  door,  under  the  eyes  of  the  ladies  watching 
at  the  parlor  windows. 

"  I  wonder  he  let  the  others  carry  her  up,"  said 
Miss  Gleason.  "Of  course,  he  will  marry  her  now, 
—  when  she  gets  her  divorce."  She  spoke  of  Mrs. 
Maynard,  whom  her  universal  toleration  not  only  in- 
cluded in  the  mercy  which  the  opinions  of  the  other 
ladies  denied  her,  but  round  whom  her  romance  cast 
a  halo  of  pretty  possibilities  as  innocently  sentimen- 
tal as  the  hopes  of  a  young  girl. 


62  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 


IV. 


THE  next  morning  Grace  was  sitting  beside  her 
patient,  with  whom  she  had  spent  the  night.  It  was 
possibly  Mrs.  Maynard's  spiritual  toughness  which 
availed  her,  for  she  did  not  seem  much  the  worse  for 
her  adventure :  she  had  a  little  fever,  and  she  was 
slightly  hoarser ;  but  she  had  died  none  of  the  deaths 
that  she  projected  during  the  watches  of  the  night, 
and  for  which  she  had  chastened  the  spirit  of  her 
physician  by  the  repeated  assurance  that  she  forgave 
her  everything,  and  George  Maynard  everything,  and 
hoped  that  they  would  be  good  to  her  poor  little  Bella. 
She  had  the  child  brought  from  its  crib  to  her  own 
bed,  and  moaned  over  it ;  but  with  the  return  of  day 
and  the  duties  of  life  she  appeared  to  feel  that  she 
had  carried  her  forgiveness  far  enough,  and  was  again 
remembering  her  injuries  against  Grace,  as  she  lay  in 
her  morning  gown  on  the  lounge  which  had  been 
brought  in  for  her  from  the  parlor. 

"  Yes,  Grace,  I  shall  always  say  if  I  had  died  — 
and  I  may  die  yet  —  that  I  didn't  wish  to  go  out 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  63 

with  Mr.  Libby,  and  that  I  went  purely  to  please 
you.  You  forced  me  to  go.  I  can't  understand  why 
you  did  it:  for  I  don't  suppose  you  wanted  to  kill  us, 
whatever  you  did." 

Grace  could  not  lift  her  head.  She  bowed  it  over 
the  little  girl  whom  she  had  on  her  knee,  and  who 
was  playing  with  the  pin  at  her  throat,  in  apparent 
unconsciousness  of  all  that  was  said.  But  she  had 
really  followed  it,  with  glimpses  of  intelligence,  as 
children  do,  and  now  at  this  negative  accusal  she 
lifted  her  hand,  and  suddenly  struck  Grace  a  stinging 
blow  on  the  cheek. 

Mrs.  Maynard  sprang  from  her  lounge.  "Why, 
Bella !  you  worthless  little  wretch  ! "  She  caught  her 
from  Grace's  knee,  and  shook  her  violently.  Then, 
casting  the  culprit  from  her  at  random,  she  flung  her- 
self down  again  in  a  fit  of  coughing,  while  the  child 
fled  to  Grace  for  consolation,  and,  wildly  sobbing, 
buried  her  face  in  the  lap  of  her  injured  friend. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  about  that  child  ! " 
cried  Mrs.  Maynard.  "She  has  George  Maynard's 
temper  right  over  again.  I  feel  dreadfully,  Grace  ! " 

"  Oh,  never  mind  it,"  said  Grace,  fondling  the  child, 
and  half  addressing  it.  "  I  suppose  Bella  thought  I 
had  been  unkind  to  her  mother." 

"  That's  just  it ! "  exclaimed  Louise.   "  When  you've 


64  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

been  kindness  itself !  Don't  I  owe  everything  to  you  ? 
I  should  n't  be  alive  at  this  moment  if  it  were  not  for 
your  treatment.  Oh,  Grace  ! "  She  began  to  cough 
again;  the  paroxysm  increased  in  vehemence.  She 
caught  her  handkerchief  from  her  lips ;  it  was  spotted 
with  blood.  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  regarded  it 
with  impersonal  sternness.  "  Now,"  she  said,  "  I  am 
sick,  and  I  want  a  doctor  I " 

"  A  doctor,"  Grace  meekly  echoed. 

"  Yes.  I  can't  be  trifled  with  any  longer.  I  want 
a  man  doctor  ! " 

Grace  had  looked  at  the  handkerchief.  "Very 
well,"  she  said,  with  coldness.  "  I  shall  not  stand  in 
your  way  of  calling  another  physician.  But  if  it 
will  console  you,  I  can  tell  you  that  the  blood  on 
your  handkerchief  means  nothing  worth  speaking  of. 
Whom  shall  I  send  for  ? "  she  asked,  turning  to  go 
out  of  the  room.  "  I  wish  to  be  your  friend  still,  and 
I  will  do  anything  I  can  to  help  you." 

"  Oh,  Grace  Breen !  Is  that  the  way  you  talk  to 
me  ? "  whimpered  Mrs.  Maynard.  "  You  know  that  I 
don't  mean  to  give  you  up.  I  'in  not  a  stone ;  I  have 
some  feeling.  I  did  n't  intend  to  dismiss  you,  but  I 
thought  perhaps  you  would  like  to  have  a  consultation 
about  it.  I  should  think  it  was  time  to  have  a  con- 
sultation, should  n't  you  ?  Of  course,  I'm  not  alarmed, 


DR.   BREED'S   PRACTICE.  65 

but  I  know  it 's  getting  serious,  and  I  'm  afraid  that 
your  medicine  is  n't  active  enough.  That 's  it ;  it 's 
perfectly  good  medicine,  but  it  is  n't  active.  They  've 
all  been  saying  that  I  ought  to  have  something  active. 
Why  not  try  the  whiskey  with  the  white-pine  chips  in 
it  ?  I  'm  sure  it 's  indicated."  In  her  long  course  of 
medication  she  had  picked  up  certain  professional 
phrases,  which  she  used  with  amusing  seriousness. 
"  It  would  be  active,  at  any  rate." 

Grace  did  not  reply.  As  she  stood  smoothing  the 
head  of  the  little  girl,  who  had  followed  her  to  the 
door,  and  now  leaned  against  her,  hiding  her  tearful 
face  in  Grace's  dress,  she  said,  "  I  don't  know  of  any 
homoeopathic  physician  in  this  neighborhood.  I  don't 
believe  there 's  one  nearer  than  Boston,  and  I  should 
make  myself  ridiculous  in  calling  one  so  far  for  a 
consultation.  But  I  'm  quite  willing  you  should  call 
one,  and  I  will  send  for  you  at  once." 

"  And  would  n't  you  consult  with  him,  after  he 
came  ? " 

"  Certainly  not.     It  would  be  absurd." 
,  "  I  should  n't  like  to  have  a  doctor  come  all  the  way 
from  Boston,"  mused  Mrs.  Maynard,  sinking  on  the 
lounge  again.     "  There  must  be  a  doctor  in  the  neigh- 
borhood.    It  can't  be  so  healthy  as  that ! " 

"There's  an  allopathic  physician  at  Corbitant," 
5 


66  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

said  Grace  passively.  "  A  very  good  one,  I  believe," 
she  added. 

"  Oh,  well,  then ! "  cried  Mrs.  Maynard,  with  im- 
mense relief.  "Consult  with  him  !  " 

"  I  've  told  you,  Louise,  that  I  would  not  consult 
with  anybody.  And  I  certainly  wouldn't  consult 
with  a  physician  whose  ideas  and  principles  I  knew 
nothing  about." 

"  Why  but,  Grace, "  Mrs.  Maynard  expostulated. 
"  Is  n't  that  rather  prejudiced  ? "  She  began  to  take 
an  impartial  interest  in  Grace's  position,  and  fell  into 
an  argumentative  tone.  "If  two  heads  are  better 
than  one,  —  and  everybody  says  they  are,  —  I  don't 
see  how  you  can  consistently  refuse  to  talk  with 
another  physician." 

"  I  can't  explain  to  you,  Louise,"  said  Grace.  "  But 
you  can  call  Dr.  Mulbridge,  if  you  wish.  That  will 
be  the  right  way  for  you  to  do,  if  you  have  lost  confi- 
dence in  me." 

"  I  have  n't  lost  confidence  in  you,  Grace.  I  don't 
see  how  you  can  talk  so.  You  can  give  me  bread 
pills,  if  you  like,  or  air  pills,  and  I  will  take  them 
gladly.  I  believe  in  you  perfectly.  But  I  do  think 
that  in  a  matter  of  this  kind,  where  my  health,  and 
perhaps  my  life,  is  concerned,  I  ought  to  have  a  little 
say.  I  don't  ask  you  to  give  up  your  principles,  and 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  67 

I  don't  dream  of  giving  you  up,  and  yet  you  won't  — 
just  to  please  me!  —  exchange  a  few  words  with 
another  doctor  about  my  case,  merely  because  he 's 
allopathic.  I  should  call  it  bigotry,  and  I  don't  see 
how  you  can  call  it  anything  else."  There  was  a 
sound  of  voices  at  the  door  outside,  and  she  called 
cheerily,  "  Come  in,  Mr.  Libby,  —  come  in !  There 's 
nobody  but  Grace  here,"  she  added,  as  the  young 
man  tentatively  opened  the  door,  and  looked  in.  He 
wore  an  evening  dress,  even  to  the  white  cravat,  and 
he  carried  in  his  haftd  a  crush  hat :  there  was  some- 
thing anomalous  in  his  appearance,  beyond  the  phe- 
nomenal character  of  his  costume,  and  he  blushed 
consciously  as  he  bowed  to  Grace,  and  then  at  her 
motion  shook  hands  with  her.  Mrs.  Maynard  did  not 
give  herself  the  fatigue  of  rising ;  she  stretched  her 
hand  to  him  from  the  lounge,  and  he  took  it  with- 
out the  joy  which  he  had  shown  when  Grace  made 
him  the  same  advance.  "  How  very  swell  you  look  ! 
Going  to  an  evening  party  this  morning  ? "  she  cried ; 
and  after  she  had  given  him  a  second  glance  of  greater 
intensity,  "  Why,  what  in  the  world  has  come  over 
you  ? "  It  was  the  dress  which  Mr.  Libby  wore.  He 
was  a  young  fellow  far  too  well  made,  and  carried  him- 
self too  alertly,  to  look  as  if  any  clothes  misfitted 
him ;  his  person  gave  their  good  cut  elegance,  but  he 


68  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

had  the  effect  of  having  fallen  away  in  them.  "  Why, 
you  look  as  if  you  had  been  sick  a  month ! "  Mrs. 
Maynard  interpreted. 

The  young  man  surveyed  himself  with  a  down- 
ward glance.  "They're  Johnson's/'  he  explained. 
"  He  had  them  down  for  a  hop  at  the  Long  Beach 
House,  and  sent  over  for  them.  I  had  nothing  but 
my  camping  flannels,  and  they  haven't  been  got 
into  shape  yet,  since  yesterday.  I  wanted  to  come 
over  and  see  how  you  were." 

"Poor  fellow!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Maynard.  "I  never 
thought  of  you !  How  in  the  world  did  you  get  to 
your  camp  ? " 

"I  walked." 

"In  all  that  rain?" 

"  Well,  I  had  been  pretty  well  sprinkled,  already. 
It  was  n't  a  question  of  wet  and  dry ;  it  was  a  ques- 
tion of  wet  and  wet.  I  was  going  off  bareheaded,  — 
I  lost  my  hat  in  the  water,  you  know,  —  but  your 
man,  here,  hailed  me  round  the  corner  of  the  kitchen, 
and  lent  me  one.  I  've  been  taking  up  collections  of 
clothes  ever  since." 

Mr.  Libby  spoke  lightly,  and  with  a  cry  of  "  Bar- 
low's hat ! "  Mrs.  Maynard  went  off  in  a  shriek  of 
laughter ;  but  a  deep  distress  kept  Grace  silent.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  she  had  been  lacking  not  only  in 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  69 

thoughtfulness,  but  in  common  humanity,  in  suffer- 
ing him  to  walk  away  several  miles  in  the  rain, 
without  making  an  offer  to  keep  him  and  have  him 
provided  for  in  the  house.  She  remembered  now  her 
bewildered  impression  that  he  was  without  a  hat 
when  he  climbed  the  stairs  and  helped  her  to  the 
house ;  she  recalled  the  fact  that  she  had  thrust 
him  on  to  the  danger  he  had  escaped,  and  her  heart 
was  melted  with  grief  and  shame.  "  Mr.  Libby  "  — 
she  began,  going  up  to  him,  and  drooping  before 
him  in  an  attitude  which  simply  and  frankly  ex- 
pressed the  contrition  she  felt;  but  she  could  not 
continue.  Mrs.  Maynard's  laugh  broke  into  the  usual 
cough,  and  as  soon  as  she  could  speak  she  seized  the 
word. 

"  Well,  there,  now ;  we  can  leave  it  to  Mr.  Libby. 
It 's  the  principle  of  the  thing  that  I  look  at.  And 
I  want  to  see  how  it  strikes  him.  I  want  to  know, 
Mr.  Libby,  if  you  were  a  doctor, "  —  he  looked  at 
Grace,  and  flushed,  — "  and  a  person  was  very  sick, 
and  wanted  you  to  consult  with  another  doctor, 
whether  you  would  let  the  mere  fact  that  you  hadnt 
been  introduced  have  any  weight  with  you  ? "  The 
young  man  silently  appealed  to  Grace,  who  darkened 
angrily,  and  before  he  could  speak  Mrs.  Maynard 
interposed.  "No,  no,  you  sha'n't  ask  her.  I  want 


70  DR.   BREEN' S  PRACTICE. 

your  opinion.  It's  just  an  abstract  question."  She 
accounted  for  this  fib  with  a  wink  at  Grace. 

"Eeally,"  he  said,  "it's  rather  formidable.  I've 
never  been  a  doctor  of  any  kind." 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  know  that ! "  said  Mrs.  Maynard. 
"  But  you  are  now,  and  now  would  you  do  it  ? " 

"  If  the  other  fellow  knew  more,  I  would." 

"  But  if  you  thought  he  did  n't  ? " 

"  Then  I  would  n't.  What  are  you  trying  to  get 
at,  Mrs.  Maynard?  I'm  not  going  to  answer  any 
more  of  your  questions." 

"Yes, — one  more.  Don't  you  think  it's  a  doctor's 
place  to  get  his  patient  well  any  way  he  can  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  ! " 

"  There,  Grace  !  It 's  just  exactly  the  same  case. 
And  ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  would  decide 
against  you  every  time." 

Libby  turned  towards  Grace  in  confusion.  "  Miss 
Breen  —  I  did  n't  understand  —  I  don't  presume  to 
meddle  in  anything — You're  not  fair,  Mrs.  Maynard  ! 
I  haven't  any  opinion  on  the  subject,  Miss  Breen; 
I  have  n't,  indeed  ! " 

"  Oh,  you  can't  back  out,  now ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Maynard  joyously.  "You've  said  it." 

"  And  you  're  quite  right,  Mr.  Libby,"  said  Grace 
haughtily.  She  bade  him  good-morning ;  but  he  fol- 


DR.   BREEN' S  PRACTICE.  71 

lowed  her  from  the  room,  and  left  Mrs.  Maynard  to 
her  triumph. 

"  Miss  Breen  —  Do  let  me  speak  to  you,  please  ! 
Upon  my  word  and  honor,  I  did  n't  know  what  she 
was  driving  at ;  I  did  n't,  indeed  !  It 's  pretty  rough 
on  me,  for  I  never  dreamt  of  setting  myself  up  as  a 
judge  of  your  affairs.  I  know  you  're  right,  whatever 
you  think ;  and  I  take  it  all  back ;  it  was  got  out  of 
me  by  fraud,  any  way.  And  I  beg  your  pardon  for 
not  calling  you  Doctor  —  if  you  want  me  to  do  it. 
The  other  conies  more  natural ;  but  I  wish  to  recog- 
nize you  in  the  way  you  prefer,  for  I  do  feel  most 
respectful  —  reverent  —  " 

He  was  so  very  earnest  and  so  really  troubled,  and 
he  stumbled  about  so  for  the  right  word,  and  hit 
upon  the  wrong  one  with  such  unfailing  disaster,  that 
she  must  have  been  superhuman  not  to  laugh.  Her 
laughing  seemed  to  relieve  him  even  more  than  her 
hearty  speech.  "  Call  me  how  you  like,  Mr.  Libby. 
I  don't  insist  upon  anything  with  you;  but  I  be- 
lieve I  prefer  Miss  Breen." 

"  You  're  very  kind !  Miss  Breen  it  is,  then.  And 
you  '11  forgive  my  siding  against  you  ? "  he  demanded 
radiantly. 

"  Don't  speak  of  that  again,  please.  I  Ve  nothing 
to  forgive  you." 


72  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

They  walked  down-stairs  and  out  on  the  piazza. 
Barlow  stood  before  the  steps,  holding  by  the  bit  a 
fine  bay  mare,  who  twitched  her  head  round  a  little 
at  the  sound  of  Libby's  voice,  and  gave  him  a  look. 
He  passed  without  noticing  the  horse.  "I'm  glad 
to  find  Mrs.  Maynard  so  well.  With  that  cold  of 
hers,  hanging  on  so  long,  I  did  n't  know  but  she  'd  be 
in  an  awful  state  this  morniDg." 

"  Yes,"  said  Grace,  "  it 's  a  miraculous  escape." 

"The  fact  is  I  sent  over  to  New  Leyden  for 
my  team  yesterday.  I  did  n't  know  how  things 
might  turn  out,  and  you're  so  far  from  a  lemon 
here,  that  I  thought  I  might  be  useful  in  going 
errands." 

Grace  turned  her  head  and  glanced  at  the  equi- 
page. "  Is  that  your  team  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  fellow,  with  a  smile  of  sup- 
pressed pride. 

"  What  an  exquisite  creature  !  "  said  the  girl. 

"Isn't  she?"  They  both  faced  about,  and  stood 
looking  at  the  mare,  and  the  light,  shining,  open 
buggy  behind  her.  The  sunshine  had  the  after-storm 
glister ;  the  air  was  brisk,  and  the  breeze  blew  balm 
from  the  heart  of  the  pine  forest.  "  Miss  Breen,"  he 
broke  out,  "  I  wish  you  'd  take  a  little  dash  through 
the  woods  with  me.  I  've  got  a  broad-track  buggy, 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  73 

that 's  just  right  for  these  roads.  I  don't  suppose  it's 
the  thing  at  all  to  ask  you,  on  such  short  acquaint- 
ance, but  I  wish  you  would.  I  know  you  'd  enjoy 
it.  Come!" 

His  joyous  urgence  gave  her  a  strange  thrill.  She 
had  long  ceased  to  imagine  herself  the  possible  sub- 
ject of  what  young  ladies  call  attentions,  and  she  did 
not  think  of  herself  in  that  way  now.  There  was 
something  in  the  frank,  eager  boyishness  of  the  invi- 
tation that  fascinated  her,  and  the  sunny  face  turned 
so  hopefully  upon  her  had  its  amusing  eloquence. 
She  looked  about  the  place  with  an  anxiety  of  which 
she  was  immediately  ashamed:  all  the  ladies  were 
out  of  sight,  and  probably  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff. 

"  Don't  say  no,  Miss  Breen,"  pleaded  the  gay  voice. 

The  answer  seemed  to  come  of  itself.  "  Oh,  thank 
you,  yes,  I  should  like  to  go." 

"  Good ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  the  word  which  riv- 
eted her  consent  made  her  recoil. 

"  But  not  this  morning.  Some  other  day.  I  —  I  — 
I  want  to  think  about  Mrs.  Maynard.  I  —  ought  n't 
to  leave  her.  Excuse  me  this  morning,  Mr.  Libby." 

"  Why,  of  course,"  he  tried  to  say  with  unaltered 
gayety,  but  a  note  of  disappointment  made  itself  felt. 
"  Do  you  think  she  's  going  to  be  worse  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  she  is.     But  —  "     She  paused, 


74  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

and  waited  a  space  before  she  continued.  "  I  'm 
afraid  I  can't  be  of  use  to  her  any  longer.  She  has 
lost  confidence  in  me  —  It 's  important  she  should 
trust  her  physician."  Libby  blushed,  as  he  always 
did  when  required  to  recognize  Grace  in  her  profes- 
sional quality.  "  It 's  more  a  matter  of  nerves  than 
anything  else,  and  if  she  doesn't  believe  in  me  I 
can't  do  her  any  good." 

"  Yes,  I  can  understand  that,"  said  the  young  man, 
with  gentle  sympathy;  and  she  felt,  somehow,  that 
lie  delicately  refrained  from  any  leading  or  prompting 
comment. 

"  She  has  been  urging  me  to  have  a  consultation 
with  some  doctor  about  her  case,  and  I  —  it  would  be 
ridiculous  ! " 

"  Then  I  would  n't  do  it ! "  said  Mr.  Libby.  "  You 
know  a  great  deal  better  what  she  wants  than  she 
does.  You  had  better  make  her  do  what  you 
say." 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  burden  you  with  my  affairs," 
said  Grace,  "  but  I  wished  to  explain  her  motive  in 
speaking  to  you  as  she  did."  After  she  had  said  this, 
it  seemed  to  her  rather  weak,  and  she  could  not  think 
of  anything  else  that  would  strengthen  it.  The  young 
man  might  think  that  she  had  asked  advice  of  him. 
She  began  to  resent  his  telling  her  to  make  Mrs. 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  75 

Maynard  do  what  she  saidi  She  was  about  to  add 
something  to  snub  him,  when  she  recollected  that  it 
was  her  own  wilfulnes's  which  had  precipitated  the 
present  situation,  and  she  humbled  herself. 

"  She  will  probably  change  her  mind,"  said  Libby. 
"  She  would  if  you  could  let  her  carry  her  point,"  he 
added,  with  a  light  esteem  for  Mrs.  Maynard  which 
set  him  wrong  again  in  Grace's  eyes :  he  had  no  busi- 
ness to  speak  so  to  her. 

"  Very  likely,"  she  said,  in  stiff  withdrawal  from  all 
terms  of  confidence  concerning  Mrs.  Maynard.  She 
did  not  add  anything  more,  and  she  meant  that  the 
young  fellow  should  perceive  that  his  audience  was 
at  an  end.  He  did  not  apparently  resent  it,  but  she 
fancied  him  hurt  in  his  acquiescence. 

She  went  back  to  her  patient,  whom  she  found 
languid  and  disposed  to  sleep  after  the  recent  excite- 
ment, and  she  left  her  again,  taking  little  Bella  with 
her.  Mrs.  Maynard  slept  long,  but  woke  none  the 
better  for  her  nap.  Towards  evening  she  grew  fever- 
ish, and  her  fever  mounted  as  the  night  fell.  She 
was  restless  and  wakeful,  and  between  her  dreamy 
dozes  she  was  incessant  in  her  hints  for  a  consultation 
to  Grace,  who  passed  the  night  in  her  room,  and 
watched  every  change  for  the  worse  with  a  self-accus- 
ing heart.  The  impending  trouble  was  in  that  in- 


76  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

determinate  phase  which  must  give  the  physician  his 
most  anxious  moments ;  and  this  inexperienced  girl, 
whose  knowledge  was  all  to  be  applied,  and  who  had 
hardly  arrived  yet  at  that  dismaying  stage  when  a 
young  physician  finds  all  the  results  at  war  with  all 
the  precepts,  began  to  realize  the  awfulness  of  her  re- 
sponsibility. She  had  always  thought  of  saving  life, 
and  not  of  losing  it. 


DR.  BKEEN'S  PRACTICE.  77 


V. 


BY  morning  Grace  was  as  nervous  and  anxious  as 
her  patient,  who  had  momentarily  the  advantage  of 
her  in  having  fallen  asleep.  She  went  stealthily  out, 
and  walked  the  length  of.  the  piazza,  bathing  her 
eyes  with  the  sight  of  the  sea,  cool  and  dim  under  a 
clouded  sky.  At  the  corner  next  the  kitchen  she  en- 
countered Barlow,  who,  having  kindled  the  fire  for  the 
cook,  had  spent  a  moment  of  leisure  in  killing  some 
chickens  at  the  barn ;  he  appeared  with  a  cluster  of 
his  victims  in  his  hand,  but  at  sight  of  Grace  he  con- 
siderately put  them  behind  him. 

She  had  not  noticed  them.  "Mr.  Barlow,"  she 
said,  "  how  far  is  it  to  Corbitant  ? " 

Barlow  slouched  into  a  conversational  posture,  easily 
resting  on  his  raised  hip  the  back  of  the  hand  in  which 
he  held  the  chickens.  "  Well,  it 's  accordin'  to  who 
you  ask.  Some  says  six  mile,  and  real  clever  folks 
makes  it  about  four  and  a  quarter." 

"  I  ask  you,"  persisted  Grace. 

"  Well,  the  last  time  I  was  there,  I  thought  it  was 


78  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

about  sixty.  'Most  froze  my  fingers  goin'  round  the 
point.  'N'  all  I  was  afraid  of  was  gettin'  there  too 
soon.  Tell  you,  a  lee  shore  ain't  a  pleasant  neighbor  in 
a  regular  old  northeaster.  T  you  go  by  land,  I  guess 
it 's  about  ten  mile  round  through  the  woods.  Want 
to  send  for  Dr.  Mulbridge  ?  I  thought  mebbe  "  — 

"  No,  no  ! "  said  Grace.  She  turned  back  into  the 
house,  and  then  she  came  running  out  again;  but 
by  this  time  Barlow  had  gone  into  the  kitchen, 
where  she  heard  him  telling  the  cook  that  these 
were  the  last  of  the  dommyneckers.  At  breakfast 
several  of  the  ladies  came  and  asked  after  Mrs. 
Maynard,  whose  restless  night  they  had  somehow 
heard  of.  When  she  came  out  of  the  dining-room 
Miss  Gleason  waylaid  her  in  the  hall. 

"  Dr.  Breen,"  she  said,  in  a  repressed  tumult,  "  I 
hope  you  won't  give  way.  For  woman's  sake,  I  hope 
you  won't !  You  owe  it  to  yourself  not  to  give  way  ! 
I  'm  sure  Mrs.  Maynard  is  as  well  off  in  your  hands 
as  she  can  be.  If  I  did  n't  think  so,  I  should  be 
the  last  to  advise  your  being  firm ;  but,  feeling  as  I 
do,  I  do  advise  it  most  strongly.  Everything  de- 
pends on  it." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Miss  Gleason," 
said  Grace. 

"  I  'm  glad  it  has  n't  come  to  you  yet.     If  it  was 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  79 

a  question  of  mere  professional  pride,  I  should  say, 
By  all  means  call  him  at  once.  But  I  feel  that  a 
great  deal  more  is  involved.  If  you  yield,  you  make 
it  harder  for  other  women  to  help  themselves  here- 
after, and  you  confirm  such  people  as  these  in  their 
distrust  of  female  physicians.  Looking  at  it  in  a 
large  way,  I  almost  feel  that  it  would  be  better  for 
her  to  die  than  for  you  to  give  up ;  and  feeling  as  I 
do"  — 

"Are  you  talking  of  Mrs.'Maynard  ? "  asked  Grace. 

"  They  are  all  saying  that  you  ought  to  give  up 
the  case  to  Dr.  Mulbridge.  But  I  hope  you  won't. 
I  should  n't  blame  you  for  calling  in  another  female 
physician  "  — 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  Grace.  "  There  is  no  dan- 
ger of  her  dying.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  she  has 
too  many  female  physicians  already.  In  this  house  I 
should  think  it  better  to  call  a  man."  She  left  the 
barb  to  rankle  in  Miss  Gleason's  breast,  and  followed 
her  mother  to  her  room,  who  avenged  Miss  Gleason 
by  a  series  of  inquisitional  tortures,  ending  with  the 
hope  that,  whatever  she  did,  Grace  would  not  have 
that  silly  creature's  blood  on  her  hands.  The  girl 
opened  her  lips  to  attempt  some  answer  to  this  un- 
answerable aspiration,  when  the  unwonted  sound  of 
wheels  on  the  road  without  caught  her  ear. 


80  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  What  is  that,  Grace  ? "  demanded  her  mother,  as 
if  Grace  were  guilty  of  the  noise. 

"  Mr.  Libby,"  answered  Grace,  rising. 

"  Has  he  come  for  you  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  But  I  am  going  down  to  see 
him." 

At  sight  of  the  young  man's  face,  Grace  felt 
her  heart  lighten.  He  had  jumped  from  his  buggy, 
and  was  standing  at  his  smiling  ease  on  the  piazza 
steps,  looking  about  as  if  for  some  one,  and  he  bright- 
ened joyfully  at  her  coming.  He  took  her  hand  with 
eager  friendliness,  and  at  her  impulse  began  to  move 
away  to  the  end  of  the  piazza  with  her.  The  ladies 
had  not  yet  descended  to  the  beach ;  apparently  their 
interest  in  Dr.  Breen's  patient  kept  them. 

"  How  is  Mrs.  Maynard  this  morning  ? "  he  asked ; 
and  she  answered,  as  they  got  beyond  earshot, — 

"  Not  better,  I  'm  afraid." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  sorry,"  said  the  young  man.  "  Then 
you  won't  be  able  to  drive  with  me  this  morning  ?  I 
hope  she  is  n't  seriously  worse  ? "  he  added,  recurring 
to  Mrs.  Maynard  at  the  sight  of  the  trouble  in  Grace's 
face. 

"I  shall  ask  to  drive  with  you,"  she  returned. 
"  Mr.  Libby,  do  you  know  where  Corbitant  is  ? " 

"Oh,  yes." 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  81 

"  And  will  you  drive  me  there  ? " 

"  Why,  certainly  !  "  he  cried,  in  polite  wonder. 

"  Thank  you."  She  turned  half  round,  and  cast 
a  woman's  look  at  the  other  women.  "  I  shall  be 
ready  in  half  an  hour.  Will  you  go  away,. and  come 
back  then  ?  Not  sooner." 

"  Anything  you  please,  Miss  Breen,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ing in  his  mystification.  "  In  thirty  minutes,  or  thirty 
days." 

They  went  back  to  the  steps,  and  he  mounted  his 
buggy.  She  sat  down,  and  taking  some  work  from 
her  pocket,  bent  her  head  over  it.  At  first  she  was 
pale,  and  then  she  grew  red.  But  these  fluctuations 
of  color  could  not  keep  her  spectators  long ;  one  by 
one  they  dispersed  and  descended  the  cliff;  and  when 
she  rose  to  go  for  her  hat  the  last  had  vanished,  with 
a  longing  look  at  her.  It  was  Miss  Gleason. 

Grace  briefly  announced  her  purpose  to  her  mother, 
who  said,  "I  hope  you  are  not  doing  anything  im- 
pulsive "  ;  and  she  answered,  "  No,  I  had  quite  made 
up  my  mind  to  it  last  night." 

Mr.  Libby  had  not  yet  returned  when  she  went 
back  to  the  piazza,  and  she  walked  out  on  the  road 
by  which  he  must  arrive.  She  had  not  to  walk  far. 
He  drew  in  sight  before  she  had  gone  a  quarter  of  a 
mile,  driving  rapidly.  "  Am  I  late  ? "  he  asked, 

6 


82  DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

turning,  and  pulling  up  at  the  roadside,  with  well- 
subdued  astonishment  at  encountering  her. 

"  Oh,  no ;  not  that  I  know."  She  mounted  to  the 
seat,  and  they  drove  off  in  a  silence  which  endured  for 
a  long  time.  If  Libby  had  been  as  vain  as  he  seemed 
light,  he  must  have  found  it  cruelly  unflattering,  for 
it  ignored  his  presence  and  even  his  existence.  She 
broke  the  silence  at  last  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh,  as 
frankly  sad  as  if  she  had  been  quite  alone,  but  she 
returned  to  consciousness  of  him  in  it.  "  Mr.  Libby, 
you  must  think  it  is  very  strange  for  me  to  ask  you 
to  drive  me  to  Corbitant  without  troubling  myself 
to  tell  you  my  errand." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I  'in  glad 
to  be  of  use  on  any  terms.  It  is  n't  often  that  one 
gets  the  chance." 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Dr.  Mulbridge,"  she  began,  and 
then  stopped  so  long  that  he  perceived  she  wished 
him  to  say  something. 

He  said,  "Yes?" 

"  Yes.  I  thought  this  morning  that  I  should  give 
Mrs.  Maynard's  case  up  to  him.  I  should  n't  be  at 
all  troubled  at  seeming  to  give  it  up  under  a  pressure 
of  opinion,  though  I  should  not  give  it  up  for  that. 
Of  course,"  she  explained,  "  you  don't  know  that  all 
those  women  have  been  saying  that  I  ought  to  call  in 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  83 

Dr.  Mulbridge.  It 's  one  of  those  things/'  she  added 
bitterly,  "that  make  it  so  pleasant  for  a  woman 
to  try  to  help  women."  He  made  a  little  murmur 
of  condolence,  and  she  realized  that  she  had  thrown 
herself  on  his  sympathy,  when  she  thought  she  had 
been  merely  thinking  aloud.  "  What  I  mean  is  that 
he  is  a  man  of  experience  and  reputation,  and  could 
probably  be  of  more  use  to  her  than  I,  for  she  would 
trust  him  more.  But  I  have  known  her  a  long  time, 
and  I  understand  her  temperament  and  her  character, 
—  which  goes  for  a  good  deal  in  such  matters,  —  and 
I  have  concluded  not  to  give  up  the  case.  I  wish  to 
meet  Dr.  Mulbridge,  however,  and  ask  him  to  see  her 
in  consultation  with  me.  That  is  all,"  she  ended 
rather  haughtily,  as  if  she  had  been  dramatizing  the 
fact  to  Dr.  Mulbridge  in  her  own  mind. 

"I  should  think  that  would  be  the  right  thing," 
said  Libby  simply,  with  uncalled-for  approval ;  but 
he  left  this  dangerous  ground  abruptly.  "As  you 
say,  character  goes  for  a  great  deal  in  these  things. 
I  've  seen  Mrs.  Maynard  at  the  point  of  death  before. 
As  a  general  rule,  she  does  n't  die.  If  you  have  known 
her  a  long  time,  you  know  what  I  mean.  She  likes 
to  share  her  sufferings  with  her  friends.  I  've  seen 
poor  old  Maynard  "  — 

"  Mr.  Libby  !  "  Grace  broke  in.     "  You  may  speak 


84  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

of  Mr.  Maynard  as  you  like,  but  I  cannot  allow  your 
disrespectfulness  to  Mrs.  Maynard.  It 's  shocking  ! 
You  had  no  right  to  be  their  friend  if  you  felt  toward 
them  as  you  seem  to  have  done." 

"  Why,  there  was  no  harm  in  them.  I  liked  them  ! " 
explained  the  young  man. 

"People  have  no  right  to  like  those  they  don't 
respect ! " 

Libby  looked  as  if  this  were  rather  a  new  and  droll 
idea.  But  he  seemed  not  to  object  to  her  tutoring 
him.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  as  far  as  Mrs.  Maynard  was 
concerned,  I  don't  know  that  I  liked  her  any  more 
than  I  respected  her." 

Grace  ought  to  have  frowned  at  this,  but  she  had  to 
check  a  smile  in  order  to  say  gravely,  "  I  know  she  is 
disagreeable  at  times.  And  she  likes  to  share  her  suf- 
ferings with  others,  as  you  say.  But  her  husband  was 
fully  entitled  to  any  share  of  them  that  he  may  have 
borne.  If  he  had  been  kinder  to  her,  she  would  n't 
be  what  and  where  she  is  now." 

"  Kinder  to  her  !  "  Libby  exclaimed.  "  He  's  the 
kindest  fellow  in  the  world  !  Now,  Miss  Breen,"  he 
said  earnestly,  "  I  hope  Mrs.  Maynard  has  n't  been 
talking  against  her  husband  to  you  ?  " 

"  Is  it  possible,"  demanded  Grace,  "  that  you  don't 
know  they  're  separated,  and  that  she 's  going  to  take 
steps  for  a  divorce  ? " 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  85 

"  A  divorce  ?     No  !    What  in  the  world  for  ? " 

"  I  never  talk  gossip.  I  thought  of  course  she  had 
told  you  "  — 

"  She  never  told  me  a  word  !  She  was  ashamed  to 
do  it !  She  knows  that  I  know  Maynard  was  the 
best  husband  in  the  world  to  her.  All  she  told  me 
was  that  he  was  out  on  his  ranch,  and  she  had  come 
on  here  for  her  health.  It's  some  ridiculous  little 
thing  that  no  reasonable  woman  would  have  dreamt 
of  caring  for.  It 's  one  of  her  caprices.  It 's  her  own 
fickleness.  She  's  tired  of  him,  —  or  thinks  she  is,  — 
and  that 's  all  about  it.  Miss  Breen,  I  beg  you  won't 
believe  anything  against  Maynard  ! " 

"  I  don't  understand,"  faltered  Grace,  astonished  at 
his  fervor,  and  the  light  it  cast  upon  her  first  doubts 
of  him.  "'Of  course,  I  only  know  the  affair  from 
her  report,  and  I  haven't  concerned  myself  in  it, 
except  as  it  affected  her  health.  And  I  don't  wish  to 
misjudge  him.  And  I  like  your  —  defending  him," 
she  said,  though  it  instantly  seemed  a  patronizing 
thing  to  have  said.  "  But  I  could  n't  withhold  my 
sympathy  where  I  believed  there  had  been  neglect 
and  systematic  unkiridness,  and  finally  desertion." 

"  Oh,  /  know  Mrs.  Maynard ;  I  know  her  kind  of 
talk.  I  've  seen  Maynard's  neglect  and  unkindness, 
and  I  know  just  what  his  desertion  would  be.  If  he  's 


86  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

left  her,  it 's  because  she  wanted  him  to  leave  her ;  he 
did  it  to  humor  her,  to  please  her.  I  shall  have  a  talk 
with  Mrs.  Maynard  when  we  get  back." 

"  I  'in  afraid  I  can't  allow  it  at  present,"  said  Grace, 
very  seriously.  "  She  is  worse  to-day.  Otherwise  I 
should  n't  be  giving  you  this  trouble." 

"  Oh,  it 's  no  trouble  "  - 

"  But  I  'm  glad  —  I  'm  glad  we  Ve  had  this  under- 
standing. I  'm  very  glad.  It  makes  me  think  worse 
of  myself  and  better  of —  others." 

Libby  gave  a  laugh.  "  And  you  like  that  ?  You  're 
easily  pleased." 

She  remained  grave.  "  I  ought  to  be  able  to  tell 
you  what  I  mean.  But  it  is  n't  possible  —  now.  Will 
you  let  me  beg  your  pardon  ? "  she  urged,  with  impul- 
sive earnestness. 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

"  And  not  ask  me  why  ? " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Thank  you.  Yes,"  she  added  hastily,  "  she  is  so 
much  worse  that  some  one  of  greater  experience  than 
I  must  see  her,  and  I  have  made  up  my  mind.  Dr. 
Mulbridge  may  refuse  to  consult  with  me.  I  know 
very  well  that  there  is  a  prejudice  against  women 
physicians,  and  I  could  n't  especially  blame  him  for 
sharing  it.  I  have  thought  it  all  over.  If  he  refuses, 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  87 

I  shall  know  what  to  do."  She  had  ceased  to  address 
Libby,  who  respected  her  soliloquy.  He  drove  on 
rapidly  over  the  soft  road,  where  the  wheels  made  no 
sound,  and  the  track  wandered  with  apparent  aimless- 
ness  through  the  interminable  woods  of  young  oak 
and  pine.  The  low  trees  were  full  of  the  sunshine, 
and  dappled  them  with  shadow  as  they  dashed  along ; 
the  fresh,  green  ferns  springing  from  the  brown  carpet 
of  the  pine-needles  were  as  if  painted  against  it. 
The  breath  of  the  pines  was  heavier  for  the  recent 
rain,  and  the  woody  smell  of  the  oaks  was  pungent 
where  the  balsam  failed.  They  met  no  one,  but  the 
solitude  did  not  make  itself  felt  through  her  preoccu- 
pation. From  time  to  time  she  dropped  a  word  or 
two,  but  for  the  most  she  was  silent,  and  he  did  not 
attempt  to  lead.  By  and  by  they  came  to  an  opener 
place,  where  there  were  many  red  field-lilies  tilting  in 
the  wind. 

"  Would  you  like  some  of  those  ? "  he  asked,  pull- 
ing up. 

"I  should,  very  much,"  she  answered,  glad  of  the 
sight  of  the  gay  things.  But  when  he  had  gathered 
her  a  bunch  of  the  flowers  she  looked  down  at  them 
in  her  lap,  and  said,  "  It 's  silly  in  me  to  be  caring 
for  lilies  at  such  a  time,  and  I  should  make  an  unfa- 
vorable impression  on  Dr.  Mulbridge  if  he  saw  me 


88  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

with  them.  But  I  shall  risk  their  effect  on  him.  He 
may  think  I  have  been  botanizing." 

"  Unless  you  tell  him  you  have  n't,"  the  young  man 
suggested. 

"I  need  n't  do  that." 

"  I  don't  think  any  one  else  would  do  it." 

She  colored  a  little  at  the  tribute  to  her  candor, 
and  it  pleased  her,  though  it  had  just  pleased  her  as 
much  to  forget  that  she  was  not  like  any  other  young 
girl  who  might  be  simply  and  irresponsibly  happy  in 
flowers  gathered  for  her  by  a  young  man.  "  /  won't 
tell  him,  either ! "  she  cried,  willing  to  grasp  the 
fleeting  emotion  again ;  but  it  was  gone,  and  only  a 
little  residue  of  sad  consciousness  remained. 

The  woods  gave  way  on  either  side  of  the  road, 
which  began  to  be  a  village  street,  sloping  and  shelv- 
ing down  toward  the  curve  of  a  quiet  bay.  The  neat 
weather-gray  dwellings,  shingled  to  the  ground  and 
brightened  with  door-yard  flowers  and  creepers,  strag- 
gled off  into  the  boat-houses  and  fishing-huts  on  the 
shore,  and  the  village  seemed  to  get  afloat  at  last  in 
the  sloops  and  schooners  riding  in  the  harbor,  whose 
smooth  plane  rose  higher  to  the  eye  than  the  town 
itself.  The  salt  and  the  sand  were  everywhere,  but 
though  there  had  been  nc  positive  prosperity  in  Cor- 
bitant  for  a  generation,  the  place  had  an  impregnable 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  89 

neatness,  which  defied  decay ;  if  there  had  been  a  dog 
in  the  street,  there  would  not  have  been  a  stick  to 
throw  at  him. 

One  of  the  better,  but  not  the  best,  of  the  village 
houses,  which  did  not  differ  from  the  others  in  any 
essential  particular,  and  which  stood  flush  upon  the 
street,  bore  a  door-plate  with  the  name  Dr.  Eufus 
Mulbridge,  and  Libby  drew  up  in  front  of  it  without 
having  had  to  alarm  the  village  with  inquiries.  Grace 
forbade  his  help  in  dismounting,  and  ran  to  the  door, 
where  she  rang  one  of  those  bells  which  sharply 
respond  at  the  back  of  the  panel  to  the  turn  of  a 
crank' in  front;  she  observed,  in  a  difference  of  paint, 
that  this  modern  improvement  had  displaced  an  old- 
fashioned  knocker.  The  door  was  opened  by  a  tall 
and  strikingly  handsome  old  woman,  whose  black 
eyes  still  kept  their  keen  light  under  her  white  hair, 
and  whose  dress  showed  none  of  the  incongruity  which 
was  offensive  in  the  door-bell :  it  was  in  the  perfec- 
tion of  an  antiquated  taste,  which,  however,  came  just 
short  of  characterizing  it  with  gentlewomanliness. 

"Is  Dr.  Mulbridge  at  home  ? "  asked  Grace. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  with  a  certain  hesitation,  and 
holding  the  door  ajar. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him,"  said  Grace,  mounting 
to  the  threshold. 


90  DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

"  Is  it  important  ? "  asked  the  elder  woman. 

"  Quite,"  replied  Grace,  with  an  accent  at  once  of 
surprise  and  decision. 

"  You  may  come  in,"  said  the  other  reluctantly,  and 
she  opened  a  door  into  a  room  at  the  side  of  the  hall. 

"You  may  give  Dr.  Mulbridge  my  card,  if  you 
please/'  said  Grace,  before  she  turned  to  go  into  this 
room ;  and  the  other  took  it,  and  left  her  to  find  a 
chair  for  herself.  It  was  a  country  doctor's  office, 
with  the  usual  country  doctor's  supply  of  drugs  on 
a  shelf,  but  very  much  more  than  the  country  doctor's 
usual  library:  the  standard  works  were  there,  and 
there  were  also  the  principal  periodicals  and  the 
latest  treatises  of  note  in  the  medical  world.  In  a 
long,  upright  case,  like  that  of  an  old  hall-clock,  was 
the  anatomy  of  one  who  had  long  done  with  time ;  a 
laryngoscope  and  some  other  professional  apparatus 
of  constant  utility  lay  upon  the  leaf  of  the  doctor's 
desk.  There  was  nothing  in  the  room  which  did  not 
suggest  his  profession,  except  the  sword  and  the  spurs 
which  hung  upon  the  wall  opposite  where  Grace  sat 
beside  one  of  the  front  windows.  She  spent  her  time 
in  study  of  the  room  and  its  appointments,  and  in 
now  arid  then  glancing  out  at  Mr.  Libby,  who  sat 
statuesquely  patient  in  the  buggy.  His  profile  cut 
against  the  sky  was  blameless ;  and  a  humorous 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  91 

shrewdness  which  showed  in  the  wrinkle  at  his  eye 
and  in  the  droop  of  his  yellow  mustache  gave  its 
regularity  life  and  charm.  It  occurred  to  her  that  if 
Dr.  Mulbridge  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Libby  before  he 
saw  her,  or  before  she  could  explain  that  she  had  got 
one  of  the  gentlemen  at  the  hotel  —  she  resolved 
upon  this  prevarication  —  to  drive  her  to  Corbitant 
in  default  of 'another  conveyance,  he  would  have  his 
impressions  and  conjectures,  which  doubtless  the 
bunch  of  lilies  in  her  hand  would  do  their  part  to 
stimulate.  She  submitted  to  this  possibility,  arid 
waited  for  his  coming,  which  began  to  seem  unreason- 
ably delayed.  The  door  opened  at  last,  and  a  tall, 
powerfully  framed  man  of  thirty-five  or  forty,  dressed 
in  an  ill-fitting  suit  of  gray  Canada  homespun  ap- 
peared. He  moved  with  a  slow,  pondering  step,  and 
carried  his  shaggy  head  bent  downwards  from  shoul- 
ders slightly  rounded.  His  dark  beard  was  already 
grizzled,  and  she  saw  that  his  mustache  was  burnt 
and  turned  tawny  at  points  by  smoking,  of  which 
habit  his  presence  gave  stale  evidence  to  another 
sense.  He  held  Grace's  card  in  his  hand,  and  he 
looked  at  her,  as  he  advanced,  out  of  gray  eyes  that, 
if  not  sympathetic,  were  perfectly  intelligent,  and 
that  at  once  sought  to  divine  and  class  her.  She 
perceived  that  he  took  in  the  lilies  and  her  coming 


92  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

color;  she  felt  that  he  noted  her  figure  and  her 
dress. 

She  half  rose  in  response  to  his  questioning  bow, 
and  he  motioned  her  to  her  seat  again.  "  I  had  to 
keep  you  waiting,"  he  said.  "I  was  up  all  night 
with  a  patient,  and  I  was  asleep  when  my  mother 
called  me."  He  stopped  here,  and  definitively  waited 
for  her  to  begin. 

She  did  not  find  this  easy,  as  he  took  a  chair  in 
front  of  her,  and  sat  looking  steadily  in  her  face. 
"  I  'm  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you  "  — 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  he  interrupted.  "  The  rule  is  to 
disturb  a  doctor." 

"  I  mean,"  she  began  again,  "  that  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  a'm  justified  in  disturbing  you." 

He  waited  a  little  while  for  her  to  go  on,  and  then 
he  said,  "  Well,  let  us  hear." 

"  I  wish  to  consult  with  you,"  she  broke  out,  and 
again  she  came  to  a  sudden  pause  ;  and  as  she  looked 
into  his  vigilant  face,  in  which  she  was  not  sure  there 
was  not  a  hovering  derision,  she  could  not  continue. 
She  felt  that  she  ought  to  gather  courage  from  the 
fact  that  he  had  not  started,  or  done  anything  posi- 
tively disagreeable  when  she  had  asked  for  a  consul- 
tation ;  but  she  could  not,  and  it  did  not  avail  her  to 
reflect  that  she  was  rendering  herself  liable  to  all 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  93 

conceivable  misconstruction,  —  that  she  was  behav- 
ing childishly,  with  every  appearance  of  behaving 
guiltily. 

He  came  to  her  aid  again,  in  a  blunt  fashion, 
neither  kind  nor  unkind,  but  simply  common  sense. 
"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  she  repeated. 

"  Yes.  What  are  the  symptoms  ?  Where  and  how 
are  you  sick  ? " 

"  I  am  not  sick ! "  she  cried.  They  stared  at  each 
other  in  reciprocal  amazement  and  mystification. 

"  Then  excuse  me  if  I  ask  you  what  you  wish  me 
to  do  ? " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Grace,  realizing  his  natural  error,  with 
a  flush.  "  It  is  n't  in  regard  to  myself  that  I  wish  to 
consult  with  you.  It 's  another  person  —  a  friend  " 

"  Well,"  said  Dr.  Mulbridge,  laughing,  with  the 
impatience  of  a  physician  used  to  making  short  cuts 
through  the  elaborate  and  reluctant  statements  of 
ladies  seeking  advice,  "what  is  the  matter  with 
your  friend  ? " 

"  She  has  been  an  invalid  for  some  time,"  replied 
Grace.  The  laugh,  which  had  its  edge  of  patronage 
and  conceit,  stung  her  into  self-possession  again,  and 
she  briefly  gave  the  points  of  Mrs.  Maynard's  case, 
with  the  recent  accident  and  the  symptoms  developed 


94  DR.    BKEEN'S   PRACTICE. 

during  the  night.  He  listened  attentively,  nodding 
his  head  at  times,  and  now  and  then  glancing  sharply 
at  her,  as  one  might  at  a  surprisingly  intelligent 
child. 

"I  must  see  her,"  he  said  decidedly,  when  she 
came  to  an  end.  "  I  will  see  her  as  soon  as  possible. 
I  will  come  over  to  Jocelyn's  this  afternoon,  —  as 
soon  as  I  can  get  my  dinner,  in  fact." 

There  was  such  a  tone  of  dismissal  in  his  words 
that  she  rose,  and  he  promptly  followed  her  example. 
She  stood  hesitating  a  moment.  Then,  "I  don't 
know  whether  you  understood  that  I  wish  merely  to 
consult  with  you,"  she  said;  "that  I  don't  wish  to 
relinquish  the  case  to  you  "  — 

"  Kelinquish  the  case  —  consult "  —  Dr.  Mulbridge 
stared  at  her.  "No,  I  don't  understand.  What  do 
you  mean  by  not  relinquishing  the  case  ?  If  there  is 
some  one  else  in  attendance  "  — 

"  /  am  in  attendance,"  said  the  girl  firmly.  "  I  am 
Mrs.  Maynard's  physician." 

"  You  ?     Physician  "  - 

"  If  you  have  looked  at  my  card  "  —  she  began  with 
indignant  severity. 

He  gave  a  sort  of  roar  of  amusement  and  apology, 
and  then  he  stared  at  her  again  with  much  of  "the 
interest  of  a  naturalist  in  an  extraordinary  specimen. 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  95 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  did  n't  look 
at  it " ;  but  he  now  did  so,  where  he  held  it  crumpled 
in  the  palm  of  his  left  hand.  "  My  mother  said  it 
was  a  young  lady,  and  I  did  n't  look.  Will  you  — 
will  you  sit  down,  Dr.  Breen  ? "  He  bustled  in  get- 
ting her  several  chairs.  "  I  live  off  here  in  a  corner, 
and  I  have  never  happened  to  meet  any  ladies  of  — 
our  profession  before.  Excuse  me,  if  I  spoke  under 
a  mistaken  impression.  I  —  I  —  I  should  not  have 
—  ah  —  taken  you  for  a  physician.  You  "  —  He 
checked  himself,  as  if  he  might  have  been  going  to  say 
that  she  was  too  young  and  too  pretty.  "  Of  course, 
I  shall  have  pleasure  in  consulting  with  you  in  re- 
gard to  your  friend's  case,  though  I  Ve  no  doubt  you 
are  doing  all  that  can  be  done."  With  a  great  show 
of  deference,  he  still  betrayed  something  of  the  air  of 
one  who  humors  a  joke ;  and  she  felt  this,  but  felt 
that  she  could  not  openly  resent  it. 

"Thank  you,"  she  returned  with  dignity,  indi- 
cating with  a  gesture  of  her  hand  that  she  would  not 
sit  down  again.  "  I  am  sorry  to  ask  you  to  come  so  far." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all.  I  shall  be  driving  over  in  that 
direction  at  any  rate.  I  Ve  a  patient  near  there." 
He  smiled  upon  her  with  frank  curiosity,  and  seemed 
willing  to  detain  her,  but  at  a  loss  how  to  do  so.  "  If 
I  had  n't  been  stupid  from  my  nap  I  should  have 


96  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

inferred  a  scientific  training  from  your  statement  of 
your  friend's  case."  She  still  believed  that  he  was 
laughing  at  her,  and  that  this  was  a  mock ;  but  she 
was  still  helpless  to  resent  it,  except  by  an  assump- 
tion of  yet  colder  state.  This  had  apparently  no 
effect  upon  Dr.  Mulbridge.  He  continued  to  look  at 
her  with  hardly  concealed  amusement,  and  visibly  to 
grow  more  and  more  conscious  of  her  elegance  and 
style,  now  that  she  stood  before  him.  There  had 
been  a  time  when,  in  planning  her  career,  she  had 
imagined  herself  studying  a  masculine  simplicity  and 
directness  of  address  ;  but  the  over-success  of  some 
young  women,  her  fellows  at  the  school,  in  this  direc- 
tion had  disgusted  her  with  it,  and  she  had  perceived 
that  after  all  there  is  nothing  better  for  a  girl,  even  a 
girl  who  is  a  doctor  of  medicine,  than  a  ladylike 
manner.  Now,  however,  she  wished  that  she  could 
do  or  say  something  aggressively  mannish,  for  she 
felt  herself  dwindling  away  to  the  merest  femininity, 
under  a  scrutiny  which  had  its  fascination,  whether 
agreeable  or  disagreeable.  "  You  must,"  he  said,  with 
really  unwarrantable  patronage,  "  have  found  that  the 
study  of  medicine  has  its  difficulties, — you  must 
have  been  very  strongly  drawn  to  it." 

"  Oh  no,  not  at  all ;  I  had  rather  an  aversion  at 
first,"  she  replied,  with  the  instant  superiority  of  a 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  97 

woman  where  the  man  suffers  any  topic  to  become 
personal.     "  Why  did  you  think  I  was  drawn  to  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  —  I  don't  know  that  I  thought  so," 
he  stammered.  "  I  believe  I  intended  to  ask,"  he 
added  bluntly  ;  but  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
him  redden,  and  she  did  not  volunteer  anything  in 
his  relief.  She  divined  that  it  would  leave  him  with 
an  awkward  sense  of  defeat  if  he  quitted  the  subject 
there ;  and  in  fact  he  had  determined  that  he  would 
not.  "  Some  of  our  ladies  take  up  the  study  abroad," 
he  said  ;  and  he  went  on  to  speak,  with  a  real  defer- 
ence, of  the  eminent  woman  who  did  the  American 
name  honor  by  the  distinction  she  achieved  in  the 
schools  of  Paris. 

"  I  have  never  been  abroad,"  said  Grace. 

"  No  ? "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  thought  all  American 
ladies  had  been  abroad  "  ;  and  now  he  said,  with  easy 
recognition  of  her  resolution  not  to  help  him  out,  "  I 
suppose  you  have  your  diploma  from  the  Philadelphia 
school" 

"  No,"  she  returned,  "  from  the  New  York  school, 
—  the  homoaopathic  school  of  New  York." 

Dr.  Mulbridge  instantly  sobered,  and  even  turned 
a  little  pale,  but  he  did  not  say  anything.  He  re- 
mained looking  at  her  as  if  she  had  suddenly  changed 
from  a  piquant  mystery  to  a  terrible  dilemma. 

7 


98  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

She  moved  toward  the  door.  "Then  I  may  expect 
you, "  she  said,  "  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon." 

He  did  not  reply ;  he  stumbled  upon  the  chairs  in 
following  her  a  pace  or  two,  with  a  face  of  acute  dis- 
tress. Then  he  broke  out  with  "  I  can't  come !  I 
can't  consult  with  you  ! " 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him  with  astonishment, 
which  he  did  his  best  to  meet.  Her  astonishment 
congealed  into  hauteur,  and  then  dissolved  into  the 
helplessness  of  a  lady  who  has  been  offered  a  rude- 
ness ;  but  still  she  did  not  speak.  She  merely  looked 
at  him,  while  he  halted  and  stammered  on. 

"  Personally,  I  —  I  —  should  be  —  obliged  —  I 
should  feel  honored  —  I  —  I  —  It  has  nothing  to  do 
with  your  —  your  —  being  a  —  a  —  a  —  woman  — 
lady.  I  should  not  care  for  that.  No.  But  surely 
you  must  know  the  reasons  —  the  obstacles  —  which 
deter  me  ? " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  she  said,  calm  with  the  advantage 
of  his  perturbation.  "  But  if  you  refuse,  that  is  suffi- 
cient. I  will  not  inquire  your  reasons.  I  will 
simply  withdraw  my  request." 

"  Thank  you.  But  I  beg  you  to  understand  that 
they  have  no  reference  whatever  to  you  in  —  your 
own  —  capacity  —  character  —  individual  quality. 
They  are  purely  professional  —  that  is,  technical  — 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  99 

I  should  say  disciplinary,  —  entirely  disciplinary. 
Yes,  disciplinary."  The  word  seemed  to  afford  Dr. 
Mulbridge  the  degree  of  relief  which  can  come  only 
from  an  exactly  significant  and  luminously  exegetic 
word. 

"  I  don't  at  all  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Grace, 
"  But  it  is  not  necessary  that  I  should  know.  Will 
you  allow  me  ? "  she  asked,  for  Dr.  Mulbridge  had 
got  between  her  and  the  door,  and  stood  with  his 
hand  on  the  latch. 

His  face  flushed,  and  drops  stood  on  his  forehead. 
"  Surely,  Miss  —  I  mean  Doctor  —  Breen,  you  must 
know  why  I  can't  consult  with  you !  We  belong  to 
two  diametrically  opposite  schools  —  theories  —  of 
medicine.  It  would  be  impracticable  —  impossible 
—  for  us  to  consult.  We  could  find  no  common 
ground.  Have  you  never  heard  that  the  —  ah  — 
regular  practice  cannot  meet  homoeopathists  in  this 
way  ?  If  you  had  told  me  —  if  I  had  known  —  you 
were  a  homoeopathist,  I  could  n't  have  considered 
the  matter  at  all.  I  can't  now  express  any  opinion 
as  to  your  management  of  the  case,  but  I  have  no 
doubt  that  you  will  know  what  to  do  —  from  your 
•point  of  view  —  and  that  you  will  prefer  to  call  in 
some  one  of  your  own  — '•  persuasion.  I  hope  that  you 
don't  hold  me  personally  responsible  for  this  result !  " 


100  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  replied  the  girl,  with  a  certain  dreamy 
abstraction.  "  I  had  heard  that  you  made  some  such 
distinction  —  I  remember,  now.  But  I  could  n't 
realize  anything  so  ridiculous." 

Dr.  Mulbridge  colored.  "  Excuse  rne,"  he  said,  "  if, 
even  under  the  circumstances,  I  can't  agree  with  you 
that  the  position  taken  by  the  regular  practice  is 
ridiculous." 

She  did  not  make  any  direct  reply.  "  But  I  sup- 
posed that  you  only  made  this  distinction,  as  you  call 
it,  in  cases  where  there  is  no  immediate  danger ;  that 
in  a  matter  of  life  and  death  you  would  waive  it. 
Mrs.  Maynard  is  really"  — 

"  There  are  no  conditions  under  which  I  cpuld  not 
conscientiously  refuse  to  waive  it." 

"  Then,"  cried  Grace,  "  I  withdraw  the  word !  It 
is  not  ridiculous.  It  is  monstrous,  atrocious,  in- 
human ! " 

A  light  of  humorous  irony  glimmered  in  Dr. 
Mulbridge's  eye.  "  I  must  submit  to  your  con- 
demnation." 

"  Oh,  it  is  n't  a  personal  condemnation ! "  she  re- 
torted. "I  have  no  doubt  that  personally  you  are 
not  responsible.  We  can  lay  aside  our  distinctions 
as  allopathist  and  homceopathist,  and  you  can  advise 
with  me  "  — 


DR.   BEEEN'S  PRACTICE.  101 

"  It 's  quite  impossible,"  said  Dr.  Mulbridge.  "  If 
I  advised  with  you,  I  might  be  —  A  little  while  ago 
one  of  our  school  in  Connecticut  was  expelled  from  the 
State  Medical  Association  for  consulting  with "  —  he 
began  to  hesitate,  as  if  he  had  not  hit  upon  a  fortunate 
or  appropriate  illustration,  but  he  pushed  on  —  "with 
his  own  wife,  who  was  a  physician  of  your  school." 

She  haughtily  ignored  his  embarrassment.  "  I 
can  appreciate  your  difficulty,  and  pity  any  liberal- 
minded  person  who  is  placed  as  you  are,  and  disap- 
proves of  such  wretched  bigotry." 

"I  am  obliged  to  tell  you,"  said  Dr.  Mulbridge, 
"that  I  don't  disapprove  of  it." 

"I  am  detaining  you,"  said  Grace.  "I  beg  your 
pardon.  I  was  curious  to  know  how  far  superstition 
and  persecution  can  go  in  our  day."  If  the  epi- 
thets were  not  very  accurate,  she  used  them  with  a 
woman's  effectiveness,  and  her  intention  made  them 
descriptive.  "Good-day,"  she  added,  and  she  made 
a  movement  toward  the  door,  from  which  Dr. 
Mulbridge  retired.  But  she  did  not  open  the  door. 
Instead,  she  sank  into  the  chair  which  stood  in  the 
corner,  and  passed  her  hand  over  her  forehead,  as  if 
she  were  giddy. 

Dr.  Mulbridge's  finger  was  instantly  on  her  wrist. 
"  Are  you  faint  ?  " 


102  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  No,  no ! "  she  gasped,  pulling  her  hand  away. 
"  I  am  perfectly  well."  Then  she  was  silent  for  a 
time  before  she  added  by  a  supreme  effort,  "  I  have 
no  right  to  endanger  another's  life,  through  any 
miserable  pride,  and  I  never  will.  Mrs.  Maynard 
needs  greater  experience  than  mine,  and  she  must 
have  it.  I  can't  justify  myself  in  the  delay  and 
uncertainty  of  sending  to  Boston.  I  relinquish  the 
case.  I  give  it  to  you.  And  I  will  nurse  her  under 
your  direction,  obediently,  conscientiously.  Oh  ! " 
she  cried,  at  his  failure  to  make  any  immediate  re- 
sponse, "  surely  you  won't  refuse  to  take  the  case ! " 

"  I  won't  refuse,"  he  said,  with  an  effect  of  difficult 
concession.  "  I  will  come.  I  will  drive  over  at  once, 
after  dinner." 

She  rose  now,  and  put  her  hand  on  the  door-latch. 
"  Do  you  object  to  my  nursing  your  patient  ?  She 
is  an  old  school  friend.  But  I  could  yield  that  point 
too,  if" - 

"  Oli,  no,  no !  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  of  your 
help,  and  your "  —  he  was  going  to  say  advice,  but 
he  stopped  himself,  and  repeated  —  "  help." 

.They  stood  inconclusively  a  moment,  as  if  they 
would  both  be  glad  of  something  more  to  say.  Then 
she  said  tentatively,  "  Good- morning,"  and  he  re- 
sponded experimentally,  "  Good-morning  " ;  and  with 


DR.   BKEEN'S  PRACTICE.  103 

that  they  involuntarily  parted,  and  she  went  out  of 
the  door,  which  he  stood  holding  open  even  after  she 
had  got  out  of  the  gate. 

His  mother  came  down  the  stairs.  "  Wlmt  in  the 
world  were  you  quarrelling  with  that  girl  about, 
Eufus  ? " 

"  We  were  not  quarrelling,  mother." 

"  Well,  it  sounded  like  it.     Who  was  she  ? " 

"  Who  ? "  repeated  her  son  absently.    "  Dr.  Breen." 

"  Doctor  Breen  ?     That  girl  a  doctor  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  I  thought  she  was  some  saucy  thing.  Well,  upon 
my  word  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mulbridge.  "  So  that  is 
a  female  doctor,  is  it  ?  Was  she  sick  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  her  son,  with  what  she  knew  to  be  pro- 
fessional finality.  "  Mother,  if  you  can  hurry  dinner 
a  little,  I  shall  be  glad.  I  have  to  drive  over  to 
Jocelyn's,  and  I  should  like  to  start  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible." 

"  Who  was  the  young  man  with  her  ?  Her  beau,  I 
guess." 

"Was  there  a  young  man  with  her?"  asked  Dr. 
Mulbridge. 

His  mother  went  out  without  speaking.  She  could 
be  unsatisfactory,  too. 


104  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 


VI. 


No  one  but  Mrs.  Breen  knew'of  her  daughter's  er- 
rand, and  when  Grace  came  back  she  alighted  from 
Mr.  Libby's  buggy  with  an  expression  of  thanks  that 
gave  no  clew  as  to  the  direction  or  purpose  of  it.  He 
touched  his  hat  to  her  with  equal  succinctness,  and 
drove  away,  including  all  the  ladies  on  the  piazza  in 
a  cursory  obeisance. 

"  We  must  ask  you,  Miss  Gleason,"  said  Mrs.  Alger. 
"  Your  admiration  of  Dr.  Breen  clothes  you  with  au- 
thority and  responsibility." 

"  I  can't  understand  it  at  all,"  Miss  Gleason  confessed. 
"  But  I  'm  sure  there 's  nothing  in  it.  He  is  n't  her 
equal.  She  would  feel  that  it  was  n't  right  —  under 
the  circumstances." 

"  But  if  Mrs.  Maynard  was  well  it  would  be  a  fair 
game,  you  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Alger. 

"  No,"  returned  Miss  Gleason,  with  the  greatest  air 
of  candor,  "  I  can't  admit  that  I  meant  that." 

"  Well,"  said  the  elder  lady,  "  the  presumption  is 
against  them.  Every  young  couple  seen  together 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  105 

must  be  considered  in  love  till  they  prove  the  con- 
trary." 

"I  like  it  in  her,"  said  Mrs.  Frost.  "It  shows  that 
she  is  human,  after  all.  It  shows  that  she  is  like 
other  girls.  It 's  a  relief." 

"  She  is  n't  like  other  girls,"  contended  Miss  Glea- 
son  darkly. 

"  I  would  rather  have  Mr.  Libby's  opinion/'  said 
Mrs.  Merritt. 

Grace  went  to  Mrs.  Maynard's  room,  and  told 
her  that  Dr.  Mulbridge  was  coming  directly  after 
dinner. 

"  I  knew  you  would  do  it ! "  cried  Mrs.  Maynard, 
throwing  her  right  arm  round  Grace's  neck,  while  the 
latter  bent  over  to  feel  the  pulse  in  her  left.  "  I 
knew  where  you  had  gone  as  soon  as  your  mother 
told  me  you  had  driven  off  with  Walter  Libby.  I  'm 
so  glad  that  you  've  got  somebody  to  consult !  Your 
theories  are  perfectly  right  and  I'm  sure  that  Dr. 
Mulbridge  will  just  tell  you  to  keep  on  as  you've 
been  doing." 

Grace  withdrew  from  her  caress.  "  Dr.  Mulbridge 
is  not  coming  for  a  consultation.  He  refused  to  con- 
sult with  me." 

"  Eefused  to  consult  ?  Why,  how  perfectly  un- 
gentlemanly  !  Wliy  did  he  refuse  ? " 


106  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  Because  he  is  an  allopathist  and  I  am  a  homceo- 
pathist." 

"Then,  what  is  he  coming  for,  I  should  like  to 
know ! " 

"I  have  given  up  the  case  to  him,"  said  Grace 
wearily. 

"  Very  well,  then  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Maynard.  "  I  won't 
be  given  up.  I  will  simply  die !  Not  a  pill,  not  a 
powder,  of  his  will  I  touch !  If  he  thinks  himself 
too  good  to  consult  with  another  doctor,  and  a  lady 
at  that,  merely  because  she  does  n't  happen  to  be 
allopathist,  he  can  go  along !  I  never  heard  of  any- 
thing so  conceited,  so  disgustingly  mean,  in  my  life. 
No,  Grace  !  Why,  it 's  horrid  ! "  She  was  silent,  and 
then,  "  Why,  of  course;'  she  added,  " if  he  comes,  I 
shall  have  to  see  him.  I  look  like  a  fright,  I  suppose." 

"  I  will  do  your  hair,"  said  Grace,  with  indifference  to 
these  vows  and  protests ;  and  without  deigning  further 
explanation  or  argument  she  made  the  invalid's  toilet 
for  her.  If  given  time,  Mrs.  Maynard  would  talk  her- 
self into  any  necessary  frame  of  mind,  and  Grace 
merely  supplied  the  monosyllabic  promptings  requi- 
site for  her  transition  from  mood  to  mood.  It  was 
her  final  resolution  that  when  Dr.  Mulbridge  did 
come  she  should  give  him  a  piece  of  her  mind ;  and 
she  received  him  with  anxious  submissiveness,  and 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  107 

hung  upon  all  his  looks  and  words  with  quaking 
and  with  an  inclination  to  attribute  her  unfavorable 
symptoms  to  the  treatment  of  her  former  physician. 
She  did  not  spare  him  certain  apologies  for  the  dis- 
orderly appearance  of  her  person  and  her  room. 

Grace  sat  by  and  watched  him  with  perfectly  qui- 
escent observance.  The  large,  somewhat  uncouth 
man  gave  evidence  to  her  intelligence  that  he  was  all 
physician,  and  that  he  had  not  chosen  his  profession 
from  any  theory  or  motive,  however  good,  but  had 
been  as  much  chosen  by  it  as  if  he  had  been  born  a 
physician.  He  was  incredibly  gentle  and  soft  in  all 
his  movements,  and  perfectly  kind,  without  being  at 
any  moment  unprofitably  sympathetic.  He  knew 
when  to  listen  and  when  not  to  listen,  —  to  learn 
everything  from  the  quivering  bundle  of  nerves  be- 
fore him  without  seeming  to  have  learnt  anything 
alarming ;  he  smiled  when  it  would  do  her  good  to  be 
laughed  at,  and  treated  her  with  such  grave  respect  that 
she  could  not  feel  herself  trifled  with,  nor  remember 
afterwards  any  point  of  neglect.  When  he  rose  and 
left  some  medicines,  with  directions  to  Grace  for  giv- 
ing them  and  instructions  for  contingencies/ she  fol- 
lowed him  from  the  room. 

"  Well  ? "  she  said  anxiously. 

"  Mrs.   Maynard   is   threatened   with   pneumonia. 


108  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

Or,  I  don't  know  why  I  should  say  threatened,"  he 
added  ;  "  she  has  pneumonia." 

"  I  supposed  —  I  was  afraid  so,"  faltered  the  girl. 

"  Yes."  He  looked  into  her  eyes  with  even  more 
seriousness  than  he  spoke.  "  Has  she  friends  here  ? " 
he  asked. 

"No;  her  husband  is  in  Cheyenne,  out  on  the 
plains." 

"He  ought   to  know,"  said   Dr.  Mulbridge.     "A 
great  deal  will  depend  upon  her  nursing  —  Miss  —  ah 
-  Dr.  Breen." 

"  You  need  n't  call  me  Dr.  Breen,"  said  Grace. 
"  At  present,  I  am  Mrs.  Maynard's  nurse." 

He  ignored  this  as  he  had  ignored  every  point  con- 
nected with  the  interview  of  the  morning.  He  re- 
peated the  directions  he  had  already  given  with  still 
greater  distinctness,  and,  saying  that  he  should  come 
in  the  morning,  drove  away.  She  went  back  to 
Louise  :  inquisition  for  inquisition,  it  was  easier  to 
meet  that  of  her  late  patient  than  that  of  her  mother, 
and  for  once  the  girl  spared  herself. 

"  I  know  he  thought  I  was  very  bad,"  whimpered 
Mrs.  Maynard,  for  a  beginning.  "  What  is  the  mat- 
ter with  me  ?  " 

"  Your  cold  has  taken  an  acute  form ;  you  will  have 
to  go  to  bed" — 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  109 

"  Then  I  'm  going  to  be  down  sick  !  I  knew  I 
was  !  I  knew  it !  And  what  am  I  going  to  do, 
off  in  such  a  place  as  this  ?  No  one  to  nurse  me,  or 
look  after  Bella !  I  should  think  you  would  be  satis- 
fied now,  Grace,  with  the  result  of  your  conscientious- 
ness: you  were  so  very  sure  that  Mr.  Libby  was 
wanting  to  flirt  with  me  that  you  drove  us  to  our 
death,  because  you  thought  he  felt  guilty  and  was 
trying  to  fib  out  of  it." 

"Will  you  let  me  help  to  undress  you?"  asked 
Grace  gently.  "  Bella  shall  be  well  taken  care  of, 
and  I  am  going  to  nurse  you  myself,  under  Dr.  Mul- 
bridge's  direction.  And  once  for  all,  Louise,  I  wish 
to  say  that  I  hold  myself  to  blame  for  all "  — 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Much  good  that  does  now  !  "  Being 
got  into  bed,  with  the  sheet  smoothed  under  her 
chin,  she  said,  with  the  effect  of  drawing  a  strictly 
logical  conclusion  from  the  premises,  "  Well,  I  should 
think  George  Maynard  would  want  to  be  with  his 
family  ! " 

Spent  with  this  ordeal,  Grace  left  her  at  last,  and 
went  out  on  the  piazza,  where  she  found  Libby  re- 
turned. In  fact,  he  had,  upon  second  thoughts, 
driven  back,  and  put  up  his  horse  at  Jocelyn's,  that 
he  might  be  of  service  there  in  case  he  were  needed. 
The  ladies,  with  whom  he  had  been  making  friends, 


110  DK.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

discreetly  left  him  to  Grace,  when  she  appeared, 
and  she  frankly  walked  apart  with  him,  and  asked 
him  if  he  could  go  over  to  New  Leyden,  and  tele- 
graph to  Mr.  Maynard. 

"  Has  she  asked  for  him  ? "  he  inquired,  laughing. 
"  I  knew  it  would  come  to  that." 

"  She  has  not  asked ;  she  has  said  that  she  thought 
he  ought  to  be  with  his  family,"  repeated  Grace 
faithfully. 

"  Oh,  /  know  how  she  said  it :  as  if  he  had  gone 
away  wilfully,  and  kept  away  against  her  wishes  and 
all  the  claims  of  honor  and  duty.  It  would  n't  take 
her  long  to  get  round  to  that  if  she  thought  she  was 
very  sick.  Is  she  so  bad  ? "  he  inquired,  with  light 
scepticism. 

"  She  's  threatened  with  pneumonia.  We  can't  tell 
how  bad  she  may  be." 

"  Why,  of  course  I  '11  telegraph.  But  I  don't  think 
anything  serious  can  be  the  matter  with  Mrs. 
Maynard." 

"  Dr.  Mulbridge  said  that  Mr.  Maynard  ought  to 
know." 

"  Is  that  so  ? "  asked  Libby,  in  quite  a  different 
tone.  If  she  recognized  the  difference,  she  was 
meekly  far  from  resenting  it;  he,  however,  must 
have  wished  to  repair  his  blunder.  "  I  think  you 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  Ill 

need  n't  have  given  up  the  case  to  him.  I  think 
you  're  too  conscientious  about  it "  — 

"  Please  don't  speak  of  that  now,"  she  interposed. 

"  Well,  I  won't,"  he  consented.  "  Can  I  be  of  any 
use  here  to-night  ? " 

"  No,  we  shall  need  nothing  more.  The  doctor  will 
be  here  again  in  the  morning." 

Libby  did  not  come  in  the  morning  till  after  the 
doctor  had  gone,  and  then  he  explained  that  he  had 
waited  to  hear  in  reply  to  his  telegram,  so  that  they 
might  tell  Mrs.  Maynard  her  husband  had  started ; 
and  he  had  only  just  now  heard. 

"  And  has  he  started  ?  "  Grace  asked. 

"  I  heard  from  his  partner.  Maynard  was  at  the 
ranch.  His  partner  had  gone  for  him." 

"  Then  he  will  soon  be  here,"  she  said. 

"  He  will,  if  telegraphing  can  bring  him.  I  sat  up 
half  the  night  with  the  operator.  She  was  very 
obliging  when  she  understood  the  case." 

"  She  ?  "  repeated  Grace,  with  a  slight  frown. 

"The  operators  are  nearly  all  women  in  the  country." 

"  Oh  !"  She  looked  grave.  "  Can  they  trust  young 
girls  with  such  important  duties  ? " 

"  They  did  n't  in  this  instance,"  replied  Libby. 
"  She  was  a  pretty  old  girl.  What  made  you  think 
she  was  young  ? " 


112  DR.   BBEEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  thought  you  said  she  was 
young."  She  blushed,  and  seemed  about  to  say 
more,  but  she  did  not. 

He  waited,  and  then  he  said,  "  You  can  tell  Mrs. 
Maynard  that  I  telegraphed  on  my  own  responsibil- 
ity, if  you  think  it 's  going  to  alarm  her." 

"  Well,"  said  Grace,  with  a  helpless  sigh. 

"  You  don't  like  to  tell  her  that,"  he  suggested, 
after  a  moment,  in  which  he  had  watched  her. 

"  How  do  you  know  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  know.  And  some  day  I  will  tell  you  how 
—  if  you  will  let  me." 

It  seemed  a  question  ;  and  she  did  not  know  what 
it  was  that  kept  her  silent  and  breathless  and  hot  in 
the  throat.  "  I  don't  like  to  do  it,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  I  hate  myself  whenever  I  have  to  feign  anything. 
I  knew  perfectly  well  that  you  did  n't  say  she  was 
young,"  she  broke  out  desperately. 

"  Say  Mrs.  Maynard  was  young  ? "  he  asked 
stupidly. 

"  No ! "  she  cried.  She  rose  hastily  from  the 
bench  where  she  had  been  sitting  with  him.  "  I 
must  go  back  to  her  now." 

He  mounted  to  his  buggy,  and  drove  thoughtfully 
away  at  a  walk. 

The   ladies,   whose   excited   sympathies   for   Mrs. 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  113 

Maynard  had  kept  them  from  the  beach  till  now, 
watched  him  quite  out  of  sight  before  they  began  to 
talk  of  Grace. 

"I  hope  Dr.  Breen's  new  patient  will  be  more 
tractable,"  said  Mrs.  Merritt.  "  It  would  be  a  pity  if 
she  had  to  give  him  up,  too,  to  Dr.  Mulbridge." 

Mrs.  Scott  failed  of  the  point.  "Why,  is  Mr. 
Libby  sick  ? " 

"  Not  very,"  answered  Mrs.  Merritt,  with  a  titter 
of  self-applause. 

"  I  should  be  sorry,"  interposed  Mrs.  Alger  au- 
thoritatively, "  if  we  had  said  anything  to  influence 
the  poor  thing  in  what  she  has  done." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  we  need  distress  ourselves 
about  undue  influence  !  "  Mrs.  Merritt  exclaimed. 

Mrs.  Alger  chose  to  ignore  the  suggestion.  "  She 
had  a  very  difficult  part ;  and  I  think  she  has  acted 
courageously.  I  always  feel  sorry  for  girls  who  at- 
tempt anything  of  that  kind.  It 's  a  fearful  ordeal." 

"  But  they  say  Miss  Breen  was  n't  obliged  to  do  it 
for  a  living,"  Mrs.  Scott  suggested. 

"  So  much  the  worse,"  said  Mrs.  Merritt. 

"  No,  so  much  the  better,"  returned  Mrs.  Alger. 

Mrs.  Merritt,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  piazza, 
stooped  over  with  difficulty  and  plucked  a  grass- 
straw,  which  she  bit  as  she  looked  rebelliously  away. 

8 


114  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

Mrs.  Frost  had  installed  herself  as  favorite  since 
Mrs.  Alger  had  praised  her  hair.  She  now  came  for- 
ward, and,  dropping  fondly  at  her  knee,  looked  up  to 
her  for  instruction.  "  Don't  you  think  that  she  showed 
her  sense  in  giving  up  at  the  very  beginning,  if  she 
found  she  was  n't  equal  to  it  ?  "  She  gave  her  head 
a  little  movement  from  side  to  side,  and  put  the  mass 
of  her  back  hair  more  on  show. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Alger,  looking  at  the  favorite 
not  very  favorably. 

"  Oh,  /  don't  think  she 's  given  up,"  Miss  Gleason 
interposed,  in  her  breathless  manner.  She  waited  to 
be  asked  why,  and  then  she  added,  "  I  think  she 's 
acting  in  consultation  with  Dr.  Mulbridge.  He  may 
have  a  certain  influence  over  her,  —  I  think  he  has  ; 
but  I  know  they  are  acting  in  unison." 

Mrs.  Merritt  flung  her  grass-straw  away.  "  Per- 
haps it  is  to  be  Dr.  Mulbridge,  after  all,  and  not  Mr. 
Libby." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that,"  Miss  Gleason  assented 
candidly.  "Yes,  I  have  thought  of  that.  I  have 
thought  of  their  being  constantly  thrown  together,  in 
this  way.  It  would  not  discourage  me.  She  could 
be  quite  as  true  to  her  vocation  as  if  she  remained 
single.  Truer." 

"  Talking  of  true,"  said  Mrs.  Scott,  "  always  does 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  115 

make  me  think  of  blue.  They  say  that  yellow  will 
be  worn  on  everything  this  winter." 

"  Old  gold  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Frost. 

"  Yes,  more  than  ever." 

"  Dear ! "  cried  the  other  lady.  "  I  don't  know 
what  I  shall  do.  It  perfectly  kills  my  hair." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Gleason ! "  exclaimed  the  young  girl. 
"Do  you  believe  in  character  coming  out  in  color  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly.     I  have  always  believed  that." 

"  Well,  I  Ve  got  a  friend,  and  she  would  n't  have 
anything  to  do  with  a  girl  that  wore  magenta  more 
than  she  would  fly." 

"  I  should  suppose,"  explained  Miss  Gleason,  "  that 
all  those  aniline  dyes  implied  something  coarse  in 
people." 

"  Is  n't  it  curious,"  asked  Mrs.  Frost, "  how  red-haired 
people  have  come  in  fashion  1  I  can  recollect,  when 
I  was  a  little  girl,  that  everybody  laughed  at  red 
hair.  There  was  one  girl  at  the  first  school  I  ever 
went  to,  —  the  boys  used  to  pretend  to  burn  their 
fingers  at  her  hair." 

"  I  think  Dr.  Breen's  hair  is  a  very  pretty  shade  of 
brown,"  said  the  young  girl. 

Mrs.  Merritt  rose  from  the  edge  of  the  piazza.  "  I 
think  that  if  she  hasn't  given  up  to  him  entirely 
she 's  the  most  submissive  consulting  physician  I 


116  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

ever   saw,"  she  said,  and  walked  out  over  the  grass 
towards  the  cliff. 

The  ladies  looked  after  her.  "Is  Mrs.  Merritt 
more  pudgy  when  she 's  sitting  down  or  when  she  's 
standing  up  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Scott. 

Miss  Gleason  seized  her  first  chance  of  speaking 
with  Grace  alone.  "Oh,  do  you  know  how  much 
you  are  doing  for  us  all  ? " 

"  Doing  for  you  all  ?  How  doing  ? "  faltered 
Grace,  whom  she  had  whisperingly  halted  in  a  corner 
of  the  hall  leading  from  the  dining-room. 

"  By  acting  in  unison,  —  by  solving  the  most  per- 
plexing problem  in  women's  practising  your  profes- 
sion." She  passed  the  edge  of  her  fan  over  her  lips 
before  letting  it  fall  furled  upon  her  left  hand,  and 
looked  luminously  into  Grace's  eyes. 

"  I  don't  at  all  know  what  you  mean,  Miss  Glea- 
son," said  the  other. 

Miss  Gleason  kicked  out  the  skirt  of  her  dress,  so 
as  to  leave  herself  perfectly  free  for  the  explanation. 
"  Practising  in  harmony  with  a  physician  of  the  other 
sex.  I  have  always  felt  that  there  was  the  great  diffi- 
culty,—  how  to  bring  that  about.  I  have  always 
felt  that  the  true  physician  must  be  dual,  —  have 
both  the  woman's  nature  and  the  man's ;  the  woman's 
tender  touch,  the  man's  firm  grasp.  You  have  shown 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  117 

how  the  medical  education  of  women  can  meet  this 
want.  The  physician  can  actually  be  dual,  —  be 
two,  in  fact.  Hereafter,  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall 
always  call  a  physician  of  each  sex.  But  it 's  won- 
derful how  you  could  ever  bring  it  about,  though  you 
can  do  anything  !  Has  n't  it  worn  upon  you  ?  " 
Miss  Gleason  darted  out  her  sentences  in  quick,  short 
breaths,  fixing  Grace  with  her  eyes,  and  at  each  clause 
nervously  tapping  her  chest  with  her  reopened  fan. 

"  If  you  suppose,"  said  Grace,  "  that  Dr.  Mulbridge 
and  I  are  acting  professionally  in  unison,  as  you  call 
it,  you  are  mistaken.  He  has  entire  charge  of  the 
case ;  I  gave  it  up  to  him,  and  I  am  merely  nursing 
Mrs.  Maynard  under  his  direction." 

"  How  splendid  !  "  Miss  Gleason  exclaimed.  "  Do 
you  know  that  I  admire  you  for  giving  up,  —  for 
knowing  when  to  give  up  ?  So  few  women  do  that  ! 
Is  n't  he  magnificent  ?  " 

"  Magnificent  ? " 

"  I  mean  psychically.  He  is  what  I  should  call  a 
strong  soul.  You  must  have  felt  his  masterfulness ; 
you  must  have  enjoyed  it !  Don't  you  like  to  be 
dominated  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Grace,  "  I  should  n't  at  all  like  it." 

"  Oh,  7  do !  I  like  to  meet  one  of  those  forceful 
masculine  natures  that  simply  bid  you  obey.  It 's 


118  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

delicious.  Such  a  sense  of  self-surrender,"  Miss 
Gleason  explained.  "  It  is  n't  because  they  are  men," 
she  added.  "  I  have  felt  the  same  influence  from 
some  women.  I  felt  it,  in  a  certain  degree,  on  first 
meeting  you." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Grace  coldly.  "  I  should 
dislike  being  controlled  myself,  and  I  should  dislike 
still  more  to  control  others." 

"  You  're  doing  it  now  !  "  cried  Miss  Gleason,  with 
delight.  "  I  could  not  do  a  thing  to  resist  your  putting 
me  down !  Of  course  you  don't  know  that  you  're 
doing  it ;  it 's  purely  involuntary.  And  you  would  n't 
know  that  he  was  dominating  you.  And  he  would  n't." 

Very  probably  Dr.  Mulbridge  would  not  have 
recognized  himself  in  the  character  of  all-compelling 
lady's- novel  hero,  which  Miss  Gleason  imagined  for 
him.  Life  presented  itself  rather  simply  to  him,  as 
it  does  to  most  men,  and  he  easily  dismissed  its 
subtler  problems  from  a  mind  preoccupied  with  ac- 
tive cares.  As  far  as  Grace  was  concerned,  she  had 
certainly  roused  in  him  an  unusual  curiosity  ;  noth- 
ing less  than  her  homoeopathy  would  have  made  him 
withdraw  his  consent  to  a  consultation  with  her,  and 
his  fear  had  been  that  in  his  refusal  she  should  es- 
cape from  his  desire  to  know  more  about  her,  her 
motives,  her  purposes.  He  had  accepted  without 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  119 

scruple  the  sacrifice  of  pride  she  had  made  to  him ; 
but  he  had  known  how  to  appreciate  her  scientific 
training,  which  he  found  as  respectable  as  that  of  any 
clever  young  man  of  their  profession.  He  praised,  in 
his  way,  the  perfection  with  which  she  interpreted  his 
directions  and  intentions  in  regard  to  the  patient. 
"  If  there  were  such  nurses  as  you,  Miss  Breen,  there 
would  be  very  little  need  of  doctors,"  he  said,  with 
a  sort  of  interrogative  fashion  of  laughing  peculiar 
to  him. 

"  I  thought  of  being  a  nurse  once,"  she  answered. 
"  Perhaps  I  may  still  be  one.  The  scientific  training 
won't  be  lost." 

"  Oh,  no  !  It 's  a  pity  that  more  of  them  have  n't 
it.  But  I  suppose  they  think  nursing  is  rather  too 
humble  an  ambition." 

"  I  don't  think  it  so,"  said  Grace  briefly. 

"  Then  you  did  n't  care  for  medical  distinction." 

"No." 

He  looked  at  her  quizzically,  as  if  this  were  much 
droller  than  if  she  had  cared.  "  I  don't  understand 
why  you  should  have  gone  into  it.  You  told  me,  I 
think,  that  it  was  repugnant  to  you ;  and  it 's  hard 
work  for  a  woman,  and  very  uncertain  work  for  any 
one.  You  must  have  had  a  tremendous  desire  to 
benefit  your  race." 


120  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

His  characterization  of  her  motive  was  so  distaste- 
ful that  she  made  no  reply,  and  left  him  to  his  con- 
jectures, in  which  he  did  not  appear  unhappy.  "  How 
do  you  find  Mrs.  Maynard  to-day  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  looked  at  her  with  an  instant  coldness,  as  if  he 
did  not  like  her  asking,  and  were  hesitating  whether 
to  answer.  But  he  said  at  last,  "  She  is  no  better. 
She  will  be  worse  before  she  is  better.  You  see," 
he  added,  "  that  I  have  n't  been  able  to  arrest  the 
disorder  in  its  first  stage.  We  must  hope  for  what 
can  be  done  now,  in  the  second." 

She  had  gathered  from  the  half-jocose  ease  with 
wRich  he  had  listened  to  Mrs.  Maynard's  account 
of  herself,  and  to  her  own  report,  an  encouragement 
which  now  fell  to  the  ground.  "  Yes,"  she  assented, 
in  her  despair,  "  that  is  the  only  hope." 

He  sat  beside  the  table  in  the  hotel  parlor,  where 
they  found  themselves  alone  for  the  moment,  and 
drubbed  upon  it  with  an  absent  look.  "  Have  you 
sent  for  her  husband  ? "  he  inquired,  returning  to 
himself. 

"  Yes ;  Mr.  Libby  telegraphed  the  evening  we  saw 
you." 

"  That 's  good,"  said  Dr.  Mulbridge,  with  comfort- 
able approval ;  and  he  rose  to  go  away. 

Grace   impulsively   detained  him.     "  I  won't  ask 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  121 

you  whether  you  consider  Mrs.  Maynard's  case  a 
serious  one,  if  you  object  to  my  doing  so." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  object,"  he  said  slowly,  with 
a  teasing  smile,  such  as  one  might  use  with  a  per- 
sistent child  whom  one  chose  to  baffle  in  that  way. 

She  disdained  to  avail  herself  of  the  implied  per- 
mission. "  What  I  mean  —  what  I  wish  to  tell  you 
is  —  that  I  feel  myself  responsible  for  her  sickness, 
and  that  if  she  dies,  I  shall  be  guilty  of  her  death." 

"  Ah  ?  "  said  Dr.  Mulbridge,  with  more  interest,  but 
the  same  smile.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"She  didn't  wish  to  go  that  day  when  she  was 
caught  in  the  storm.  But  I  insisted;  I  forced  her 
to  go."  She  stood  panting  with  the  intensity  of  the 
feeling  which  had  impelled  her  utterance. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  forcing  her  to  go  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  —  I  —  persuaded  her." 

Dr.  Mulbridge  smiled,  as  if  he  perceived  her  inten- 
tion not  to  tell  him  something  she  wished  to  tell 
him.  He  looked  down  into  his  hat,  which  he  carried 
in  his  hand. 

"  Did  you  believe  the  storm  was  coming  ? " 

"No!" 

"  And  you  did  n't  make  it  come  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not ! " 

He  looked  at  her  and  laughed. 


122  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  at  all  understand  ! "  she  cried. 

"  I  'm  not  a  doctor  of  divinity,"  he  said.  "  Good- 
morning." 

"  Wait,  wait !  "  she  implored,  "  I  'm  afraid  —  I 
don't  know —  Perhaps  my  being  near  her  is  injuri- 
ous to  her;  perhaps  I  ought  to  let  some  one  else 
nurse  her.  I  wished  to  ask  you  this  "  —  She  stopped 
breathlessly. 

"I  don't  think  you  have  done  her  any  harm  as 
yet,"  he  answered  lightly.  "  However,"  he  said,  after 
a  moment's  consideration,  "why  don't  you  take  a 
holiday  ?  Some  of  the  other  ladies  might  look  after 
her  a  while." 

"Do  you  really  think,"  she  palpitated,  "that  I 
might  ?  Do  you  think  I  ought  ?  I  'm  afraid  I 
oughtn't"  — 

"Not  if  your  devotion  is  hurtful  to  her?"  he  asked. 
"  Send  some  one  else  to  her  for  a  while.  Any  one 
can  take  care  of  her  for  a  few  hours." 

"  I  could  n't  leave  her — feeling  as  I  do  about  her." 

"  I  don't  krjow  how  you  feel  about  her,"  said  Dr. 
Mulbridge.  "But  you  can't  go  on  at  this  rate.  I 
shall  want  your  help  by  and  by,  and  Mrs.  Maynard 
does  n't  need  you  now.  Don't  go  back  to  her." 

"  But  if  she  should  get  worse  while  I  am  away  "  — 

"You  think  your  staying  and  feeling  bad  would 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  123 

make  her  better  ?  Don't  go  back,"  he  repeated  ;  and 
he  went  out  to  his  ugly  rawboned  horse,  and,  mount- 
ing his  shabby  wagon,  rattled  away.  She  lingered, 
indescribably  put  to  shame  by  the  brutal  common 
sense  which  she  could  not  impeach,  but  which  she 
still  felt  was  no  measure  of  the  case.  It  was  true 
that  she  had  not  told  him  everything,  and  she  could 
not  complain  that  he  had  mocked  her  appeal  for 
sympathy  if  she  had  trifled  with  him  by  a  partial 
confession.  But  she  indignantly  denied  to  herself 
that  she  had  wished  to  appeal  to  him  for  sympathy. 

She  wandered  out  on  the  piazza,  which  she  found 
empty,  and  stood  gazing  at  the  sea  in  a  revery  of 
passionate  humiliation.  She  was  in  that  mood,  fa- 
miliar to  us  all,  when  we  long  to  be  consoled  and 
even  nattered  for  having  been  silly.  In  a  woman 
this  mood  is  near  to  tears ;  at  a  touch  of  kindness 
the  tears  come,  and  momentous  questions  are  decided. 
What  was  perhaps  uppermost  in  the  girl's  heart  was 
a  detestation  of  the  man  to  whom  she  had  seemed 
a  simpleton;  her  thoughts  pursued  him,  and  divined 
the  contempt  with  which  he  must  be  thinking  of  her 
and  her  pretensions.  She  heard  steps  on  the  sand, 
and  Libby  came  round  the  corner  of  the  house  from 
the  stable. 


124  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 


VII. 


LIBBY'S  friends  had  broken  up  their  camp  on  the 
beach,  and  had  gone  to  a  lake  in  the  heart  of  the 
woods  for  the  fishing.  He  had  taken  a  room  at  the 
Long  Beach  House,  but  he  spent  most  of  his  time  at 
Jocelyn's,  where  he  kept  his  mare  for  use  in  going 
upon  errands  for  Mrs.  Maynard.  Grace  saw  him  con- 
stantly, and  he  was  always  doing  little  things  for  her 
with  a  divination  of  her  unexpressed  desires  which 
women  find  too  rarely  in  men.  He  brought  her  flow- 
ers, which,  after  refusing  them  for  Mrs.  Maynard  the 
first  time,  she  accepted  for  herself.  He  sometimes 
brought  her  books,  the  light  sort  which  form  the  sen- 
timental currency  of  young  people,  and  she  lent  them 
round  among  the  other  ladies,  who  were  insatiable 
of  them.  She  took  a  pleasure  in  these  attentions, 
as  if  they  had  been  for  some  one  else.  In  this  alien 
sense  she  liked  to  be  followed  up  with  a  chair  to 
the  point  where  she  wished  to  sit ;  to  have  her  hat 
fetched,  or  her  shawl ;  to  drop  her  work  or  her  hand- 
kerchief, secure  that  it  would  be  picked  up  for  her. 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  125 

It  all  interested  her,  and  it  was  a  relief  from  the  cir- 
cumstances that  would  have  forbidden  her  to  recog- 
nize it  as  gallantry,  even  if  her  own  mind  had  not 
been  so  far  from  all  thought  of  that.  His  kindness 
followed  often  upon  some  application  of  hers  for  his 
advice  or  help,  for  she  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of 
going  to  him  with  difficulties.  He  had  a  prompt  com- 
mon sense  that  made  him  very  useful  in  emergencies, 
and  a  sympathy  or  an  insight  that  was  quick  in  sug- 
gestions and  expedients.  Perhaps  she  overrated  other 
qualities  of  his  in  her  admiration  of  the  practical 
readiness  which  kept  his  amiability  from  seeming 
weak.  But  the  practical  had  so  often  been  the  un- 
attainable with  her  that  it  was  not  strange  she  should 
overrate  it,  and  that  she  should  rest  upon  it  in  him 
with  a  trust  that  included  all  he  chose  to  do  in  her 
behalf. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Libby  ? "  she  asked,  as 
he  came  toward  her. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter  ? "  he  demanded  in  turn. 

"Yes;  you  are  looking  downcast,"  she  cried  re- 
proachfully. 

"I  didn't  know  that  I  mustn't  look  downcast.  I 
did  n't  suppose  it  would  be  very  polite,  under  the 
circumstances,  to  go  round  looking  as  bobbish  as  I 
feel." 


126  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  It 's  the  best  thing  you  could  possibly  do.  Bat 
you  're  not  feeling  very  bobbish  now."  A  woman 
respects  the  word  a  man  uses,  not  because  she  would 
have  chosen  it,  but  because  she  thinks  that  he  has 
an  exact  intention  in  it,  which  could  not  be  recon- 
veyed  in  a  more  feminine  phrase.  In  this  way  slang 
arises.  "Isn't  it  time  for  Mr.  Maynard  to  be 
here?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  Then,  "  How  did  you  know 
I  was  thinking  of  that?" 

"  I  did  n't.  I  only  happened  to  think  it  was  time. 
What  are  you  keeping  back,  Mr.  Libby  ?"  she  pur- 
sued tremulously. 

"Nothing,  upon  my  honor.  I  almost  wish  there 
were  something  to  keep  back.  But  there  is  n't  any- 
thing. There  have  n't  been  any  accidents  reported. 
And  I  should  n't  keep  anything  back  from  you." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  would  be  equal  to  it,  whatever  it 
was." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  say  that."  She  weakly  found 
comfort  in  the  praise  which  she  might  once  have 
resented  as  patronage. 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  should  n't,"  he  retorted. 

"  Because  I  am  not  fit  to  be  trusted  at  all" 

"  Do  you  mean  "  — 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  127 

"Oh,  I  haven't  the  strength  to  mean  anything," 
she  said.  "But  I  thank  you,  thank  you  very  much," 
she  added.  She  turned  her  head  away. 

"  Confound  Maynard  ! "  cried  the  young  man.  "  I 
don't  see  why  he  doesn't  come.  He  must  have 
started  four  days  ago.  He  ought  to  have  had  sense 
enough  to  telegraph  when  he  did  start.  I  did  n't  tell 
his  partner  to  ask  him.  You  can't  think  of  every- 
thing. I  've  been  trying  to  find  out  something.  I  'in 
going  over  to  Leyden,  now,  to  try  to  wake  up  some- 
body in  Cheyenne  who  knows  Maynard."  He  looked 
ruefully  at  Grace,  who  listened  with  anxious  unin- 
telligence.  "You're  getting  worn  out,  Miss  Breen," 
he  said.  "  I  wish  I  could  ask  you  to  go  with  me  to 
Leyden.  It  would  do  you  good.  But  my  mare  's 
fallen  lame ;  I  Ve  just  been  to  see  her.  Is  there  any- 
thing I  can  do  for  you  over  there  ?  " 

"  Why,  how  are  you  going  ? "  she  asked. 

"  In  my  boat,"  he  answered  consciously. 

"  The  same  boat  ? " 

"  Yes.  I  Ve  had  her  put  to  rights.  She  was  n't 
much  damaged." 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  while  he  stood  looking 
down  at  her  in  the  chair  into  which  she  had  sunk. 
"  Does  it  take  you  long  ? " 

"  Oh,  no.     It 's  shorter  than  it  is  by  land.     I  shall 


128  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

have  the  tide  with  me  both  ways.  I  can  make  the 
run  there  and  back  in  a  couple  of  hours." 

"  Two  hours  ? " 

"Yes." 

A  sudden  impulse,  unreasoned  and  unreasonable, 
in  which  there  seemed  hope  of  some  such  atonement, 
or  expiation,  as  the  same  ascetic  nature  would  once 
have  found  in  fasting  or  the  scourge,  prevailed  with 
her.  She  rose.  "Mr.  Libby,"  she  panted,  "if  you 
will  let  me,  I  should  like  to  go  with  you  in  your 
boat.  Do  you  think  it  will  be  rough  ?  " 

"  No,  it 's  a  light  breeze ;  just  right.  You  need  n't 
be  afraid." 

"  I  'm  not  afraid.  I  should  not  care  if  it  were 
rough  !  I  should  not  care  if  it  stormed  !  I  hope  it 
—  I  will  ask  mother  to  stay  with  Mrs.  Maynard." 

Mrs.  Breen  had  not  been  pleased  to  have  her 
daughter  in  charge  of  Mrs.  Maynard's  case,  but  she 
had  not  liked  her  giving  it  up.  She  had  said  more 
than  once  that  she  had  no  faith  in  Dr.  Mulbridge. 
She  willingly  consented  to  Grace's  prayer,  and  went 
down  into  Mrs.  Maynard's  room,  and  insinuated  mis- 
givings in  which  the  sick  woman  found  so  much 
reason  that  they  began  for  the  first  time  to  recognize 
each  other's  good  qualities.  They  decided  that  the 
treatment  was  not  sufficiently  active,  and  that  she 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  129 

should  either  have  something  that  would  be  more 
loosening  to  the  cough,  or  some  application  —  like 
mustard  plasters  —  to  her  feet,  so  as  to  take  away 
that  stuffed  feeling  about  the  head. 

At  that  hour  of  the  afternoon,  when  most  of  the 
ladies  were  lying  down  in  their  rooms,  Grace  met  no 
one  on  the  beach  but  Miss  Gleason  and  Mrs.  Alger, 
who  rose  from  their  beds  of  sand  under  the  cliff  at 
her  passage  with  Mr.  Libby  to  his  dory. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  go  to  Leyden  ? "  he  asked  jo- 
cosely over  his  shoulder. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  're  going  ? "  Miss  Glea- 
son demanded  of  Grace. 

"  Yes,  certainly.     Why  not  ? " 

"  Well,  you  are  brave  ! "  She  shut  her  novel  upon 
her  thumb,  that  she  might  have  nothing  to  do  but 
admire  Grace's  courage,  as  the  girl  walked  away. 

"  It  will  do  her  good,  poor  thing,"  said  the  elder 
woman.  "  She  looks  wretchedly." 

"  I  can  understand  just  why  she  does  it,"  murmured 
Miss  Gleason  in  adoring  rapture. 

"  I  hope  she  does  it  for  pleasure,"  said  Mrs.  Alger. 

"  It  is  n't  that,"  returned  Miss  Gleason  mysteriously. 

"  At  any  rate,  Mr.  Libby  seemed  pleased." 

"  Oh,  she  would  never  marry  him  I "  said  Miss 
Gleason. 

9 


130  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

The  other  laughed,  and  at  that  moment  Grace  also 
laughed.  The  strong  current  of  her  purpose,  the  sense 
of  escape  from  the  bitter  servitude  of  the  past  week, 
and  the  wild  hope  of  final  expiation  through  the 
chances  she  was  tempting  gave  her  a  buoyancy  long 
unfelt.  She  laughed  in  gayety  of  heart  as  she 
helped  the  young  man  draw  his  dory  down  the  sand, 
and  then  took  her  place  at  one  end  while  he  gave  it 
the  last  push  and  then  leaped  in  at  the  other.  He 
pulled  out  to  where  the  boat  lay  tilting  at  anchor, 
and  held  the  dory  alongside  by  the  gunwale  that  she 
might  step  aboard.  But  after  rising  she  faltered, 
looking  intently  at  the  boat  as  if  she  missed  some- 
thing there. 

"  I  thought  you  had  a  man  to  sail  your  boat." 

"  I  had.  But  I  let  him  go  last  week.  Perhaps  I 
ought  to  have  told  you,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  her 
aslant.  "  Are  you  afraid  to  trust  my  seamanship  ? 
Adams  was  a  mere  form.  He  behaved  like  a  fool 
that  day." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not  afraid,"  said  Grace.  She  stepped 
from  the  dory  into  the  boat,  and  he  flung  out  the 
dory's  anchor  and  followed.  The  sail  went  up  with 
a  pleasant  clucking  of  the  tackle,  and  the  light  wind 
filled  it.  Libby  made  the  sheet  fast,  and,  sitting  down 
in  the  stern  on  the  other  side,  took  the  tiller  and 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  131 

headed  the  boat  toward  the  town  that  shimmered  in 
the  distance.  The  water  hissed  at  the  bow,  and 
seethed  and  sparkled  from  the  stern ;  the  land  breeze 
that  bent  their  sail  blew  cool  upon  her  cheek  and 
freshened  it  with  a  tinge  of  color. 

"  This  will  do  you  good,"  he  said,  looking  into  hers 
with  his  kind,  gay  eyes. 

The  color  in  her  cheeks  deepened  a  little.  "  Oh,  I 
am  better  than  I  look.  I  did  n't  come  for  "  — 

"  For  medicinal  purposes.  Well,  I  am  glad  of  it. 
We  've  a  good  hour  between  us  and  news  or  no  news 
from  Maynard,  and  I  should  like  to  think  we  were 
out  for  pleasure.  You  don't  object  ?  " 

"  "No.  You  can  even  smoke,  if  that  will  heighten 
the  illusion." 

"  It  will  make  it  reality.     But  you  don't  mean  it  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  why  not  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.  But  I  could  n't  have  dreamt  of 
smoking  in  your  presence.  And  we  take  the  liberty 
to  dream  very  strange  things." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  it 's  shocking  what  things  we  do 
dream  of  people.  But  am  I  so  forbidding  ? "  she 
asked,  a  little  sadly. 

"Not  now,"  said  Libby.  He  got  out  a  pouch  of 
tobacco  and  some  cigarette  papers,  and  putting  the 
tiller  under  his  arm,  he  made  himself  a  cigarette. 


132  DR.    BKEEN'S   PRACTICE. 

"You  seem  interested,"  he  said,  as  he  lifted  his  eyes 
from  his  work,  on  which  he  found  her  intent,  and 
struck  his  fusee. 

"  I  was  admiring  your  skill,"  she  answered. 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  worth  a  voyage  to  South 
America  ? " 

"  I  should  n't  have  thought  the  voyage  was  neces- 
sary." 

"  Oh,  perhaps  you  think  you  can  do  it,"  he  said, 
handing  her  the  tobacco  and  papers.  She  took  them 
and  made  a  cigarette.  "  It  took  me  a  whole  day  to 
learn  to  make  bad  ones,  and  this  is  beautiful.  But  I 
will  never  smoke  it.  I  will  keep  this  always." 

"  You  had  better  smoke  it,  if  you  want  more,"  she 
said. 

"  Will  you  make  some  more  ?  I  can't  smoke  the 
first  one  ! " 

"  Then  smoke  the  last,"  she  said,  offering  him  the 
things  back. 

"No,  go  on.     I '11  smoke  it." 

She  lent  herself  to  the  idle  humor  of  the  time,  and 
went  on  making  cigarettes  till  there  were  no  more 
papers.  From  time  to  time  she  looked  up  from  this 
labor,  and  scanned  the  beautiful  bay,  which  they  had 
almost  wholly  to  themselves.  They  passed  a  collier 
lagging  in  the  deep  channel,  and  signalling  for  a  pilot 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  133 

to  take  her  up  to  the  town.  A  yacht,  trim  and  swift, 
cut  across  their  course ;  the  ladies  on  board  waved  a 
salutation  with  their  handkerchiefs,  and  Libby  re- 
sponded. 

"  Do  you  know  them  ? "  asked  Grace. 

"  No  ! "  he  laughed.  "  But  ladies  like  to  take  these 
liberties  at  a  safe  distance." 

"  Yes,  that 's  a  specimen  of  woman's  daring,"  she 
said,  with  a  self-scornful  curl  of  the  lip,  which  presently 
softened  into  a  wistful  smile.  "  How  lovely  it  all  is  ! " 
she  sighed. 

"  Yes,  there  's  nothing  better  in  all  the  world  than 
a  sail.  It  is  all  the  world  while  it  lasts.  A  boat 's 
like  your  own  fireside  for  snugness." 

A  dreamier  light  came  into  her  eye,  which  wan- 
dered, with  a  turn  of  the  head  giving  him  the  tender 
curve  of  her  cheek,  over  the  levels  of  the  bay,  rough- 
ened everywhere  by  the  breeze,  but  yellowish  green 
in  the  channels  and  dark  with  the  thick  growth  of 
eel-grass  in  the  shallows  ;  then  she  lifted  her  face  to 
the  pale  blue  heavens  in  an  effort  that  slanted  towards 
him  the  soft  round  of  her  chin,  and  showed  her  full 
throat. 

"  This  is  the  kind  of  afternoon,"  she  said,  still  look- 
ing at  the  sky,  "  that  you  think  will  never  end." 

"  I  wish  it  would  n't,"  he  answered. 


134  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

She  lowered  her  eyes  to  his,  and  asked :  "  Do  you 
have  times  when  you  are  sorry  that  you  ever  tried  to 
do  anything  —  when  it  seems  foolish  to  have  tried  ? " 

"  I  have  the  other  kind  of  times,  —  when  I  wish 
that  I  had  tried  to  do  something." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  have  those,  too.  It 's  wholesome  to  be 
ashamed  of  not  having  tried  to  do  anything ;  but  to 
be  ashamed  of  having  tried  —  it 's  like  death.  There 
seems  no  recovery  from  that." 

He  did  not  take  advantage  of  her  confession,  or  try 
to  tempt  her  to  further  confidence ;  and  women  like 
men  who  have  this  wisdom,  or  this  instinctive  gener- 
osity, and  trust  them  further. 

"  And  the  worst  of  it  is  that  you  can't  go  back  and 
be  like  those  that  have  never  tried  at  all.  If  you 
could,  that  would  be  some  consolation  for  having 
failed.  There  is  nothing  left  of  you  but  your  mistake." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "some  people  are  not  even  mis- 
takes. I  suppose  that  almost  any  sort  of  success 
looks  a  good  deal  like  failure  from  the  inside.  It 
must  be  a  poor  creature  that  comes  up  to  his  own 
mark.  The  best  way  is  not  to  have  any  mark,  and 
then  you  're  in  no  danger  of  not  coming  up  to  it." 
He  laughed,  but  she  smiled  sadly. 

"You  don't  believe  in  thinking  about  yourself," 
she  said. 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  135 

"Oh,  I  try  a  little  introspection,  now  and  then. 
But  I  soon  get  through :  there  is  n't  much  of  me  to 
think  about." 

"  No,  don't  talk  in  that  way,"  she  pleaded,  and  she 
was  very  charming  in  her  earnestness  :  it  was  there 
that  her  charm  lay.  "  I  want  you  to  he  serious  with 
me,  and  tell  me  —  tell  me  how  men  feel  when  "  — 

A  sudden  splashing  startled  her,  and  looking  round 
she  saw  a  multitude  of  curious,  great-eyed,  black 
heads,  something  like  the  heads  of  boys,  and  some- 
thing like  the  heads  of  dogs,  thrusting  from  the  water, 
and  flashing  under  it  again  at  sight  of  them  with  a 
swish  that  sent  the  spray  into  the  air.  She  sprang  to 
her  feet.  "  Oh,  look  at  those  things  !  Look  at  them  ! 
Look  at  them  ! "  She  laid  vehement  hands  upon  the 
young  man,  and  pushed  him  in  the  direction  in  which 
she  wished  him  to  look,  at  some  risk  of  pushing  him 
overboard,  while  he  laughed  at  her  ecstasy. 

"  They  're  seals.  The  bay  's  full  of  them.  Did  you 
never  see  them  on  the  reef  at  Jocelyn's  ? " 

"  I  never  saw  them  before  ! "  she  cried.  "  How 
wonderful  they  are  !  Oh ! "  she  shouted,  as  one  of 
them  glanced  sadly  at  her  over  its  shoulder,  and  then 
vanished  with  a  whirl  of  the  head.  "  The  Beatrice 
Cenci  attitude ! " 

"  They  're  always  trying  that,"  said  Libby.     "  Look 


136  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

yonder."  He  pointed  to  a  bank  of  mud  which  the 
tide  had  not  yet  covered,  and  where  a  herd  of  seals 
lay  basking  in  the  sun.  They  started  at  his  voice, 
and  wriggling  and  twisting  and  bumping  themselves 
over  the  earth  to  the  water's  edge,  they  plunged  in. 
"  Their  walk  is  n't  so  graceful  as  their  swim.  Would 
you  like  one  for  a  pet,  Miss  Breen  ?  That 's  all  they 
're  good  for  since  kerosene  came  in.  They  can't  com- 
pete with  that,  and  they  're  not  the  kind  that  wear 
the  cloaks." 

She  was  standing  with  her  hand  pressed  hard  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"  Did  they  ever  kill  them  ?" 

"  They  used  to  take  that  precaution," 

"  With  those  eyes  ?  It  was  murder !  "  She  with- 
drew her  hand  and  sat  down. 

"  Well,  they  only  catch  them,  now.  I  tried  it  my- 
self once.  I  set  out  at  low  tide,  about  ten  o'clock, 
one  night,  and  got  between  the  water  and  the  biggest 
seal  on  the  bank.  We  fought  it  out  on  that  line  till 
daylight." 

"  And  did  you  get  it  ? "  she  demanded,  absurdly  in- 
terested. 

"  No,  it  got  me.  The  tide  came  in,  and  the  seal 
beat." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that." 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  137 

"  Thank  you." 

"  What  did  you  want  with  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  wanted  it  at  all.  At  any  rate, 
that 's  what  I  always  said.  I  shall  have  to  ask  you 
to  sit  on  this  side,"  he  added,  loosening  the  sheet  and 
preparing  to  shift  the  sail.  "  The  wind  has  backed 
round  a  little  more  to  the  south,  and  it 's  getting 
lighter." 

"  If  it 's  going  down  we  shall  be  late,"  she  said, 
with  an  intimation  of  apprehension. 

"  We  shall  be  at  Leyden  on  time.  If  the  wind 
falls  then,  I  can  get  a  horse  at  the  stable  and  have 
you  driven  back." 

"Well." 

He  kept  scanning  the  sky.  Then,  "  Did  you  ever 
hear  them  whistle  for  a  wind  ? "  he  asked. 

"  No.     What  is  it  like  ?  " 

"When  Adams  does  it,  it's  like  this."  He  put 
on  a  furtive  look,  and  glanced  once  or  twice  at  her 
askance.  "  Well ! "  he  said  with  the  reproduction  of  a 
strong  nasal,  "  of  course  I  don't  believe  there  's  any- 
thing in  it.  Of  course  it 's  all  foolishness.  Now  you 
must  urge  me  a  little,"  he  added,  in  his  own  manner. 

"  Oh,  by  all  means  go  on,  Mr.  Adams,"  she  cried, 
with  a  laugh. 

He  rolled  his  head  again  to  one  side  sheepishly. 


138  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  Well,  I  don't  presume  it  doos  have  anything  to  do 
with  the  wind  —  well,  I  don't  presume  it  doos."  He 
was  silent  long  enough  to  whet  an  imagined  expecta- 
tion ;  then  he  set  his  face  towards  the  sky,  and  began 
a  soft,  low,  coaxing  sibilation  between  his  teeth. 
«  S-s-s-s  ;  s-s-s-s-s-s !  Well,  it  don't  stand  to  reason 
it  can  bring  the  wind  —  S-s-s-s-s-s-s  ;  s-s-s-s.  Why, 
of  course  it  's  all  foolishness.  S-s-s-s"  He  con- 
tinued to  emit  these  sibilants,  interspersing  them 
with  Adams's  protests.  Suddenly  the  sail  pulled  the 
loose  sheet  taut  and  the  boat  leaped  forward  over  the 
water. 

"  Wonderful ! "  cried  the  girl. 

"  That 's  what  I  said  to  Adams,  or  words  to  that 
effect.  But  I  thought  we  should  get  it  from  the  look 
of  the  sky  before  I  proposed  to  whistle  for  it.  Now, 
then,"  he  continued,  "  I  will  be  serious,  if  you  like." 

"  Serious  ? " 

"  Yes.  Did  n't  you  ask  me  to  be  serious  just  be- 
fore those  seals  interrupted  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  ! "  she  exclaimed,  coloring  a  little.  "  I  don't 
think  we  can  go  back  to  that,  now."  He  did  not  in- 
sist, and  she  said  presently,  "  I  thought  the  sailors 
had  a  superstition  about  ships  that  are  lucky  and  un- 
lucky. But  you  Ve  kept  your  boat." 

"  I  kept  her  for  luck  :  the  lightning  never  strikes 


DR.   BEEEN'S  PRACTICE.  139 

twice  in  the  same  place.  And  I  never  saw  a  boat 
that  behaved  so  well." 

"  Do  you  call  it  behaving  well  to  tip  over  ?  " 

"  She  behaved  well  before  that.  She  did  n't  tip 
over  outside  the  reef." 

"It  certainly  goes  very  smoothly,"  said  the  girl. 
She  had  in  vain  recurred  to  the  tragic  motive  of  her 
coming ;  she  could  not  revive  it ;  there  had  been 
nothing  like  expiation  in  this  eventless  voyage ;  it 
had  been  a  pleasure  and  no  penance.  She  abandoned 
herself  with  a  weak  luxury  to  the  respite  from  suf- 
fering and  anxiety  ;  she  made  herself  the  good  com- 
rade of  the  young  man  whom  perhaps  she  even 
tempted  to  flatter  her  farther  and  farther  out  of  the 
dreariness  in  which  she  had  dwelt;  and  if  any  woful 
current  of  feeling  swept  beneath,  she  would  not  fath- 
om it,  but  resolutely  floated,  as  one  may  at  such  times, 
on  the  surface.  They  laughed  together  and  jested ; 
they  talked  in  the  gay  idleness  of  such  rare  moods. 
They  passed  a  yacht  at  anchor,  and  a  young  fellow  in 
a  white  duck  cap,  leaning  over  the  rail,  saluted  Libby 
with  the  significant  gravity  which  one  young  man 
uses  towards  another  whom  he  sees  in  a  sail-boat 
with  a  pretty  girl. 

She  laughed  at  this.  "  Do  you  know  your  friend  ? " 
she  asked. 


140  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

"  Yes.     This  time  I  do  ? " 

"  He  fancies  you  are  taking  some  young  lady  a 
sail.  What  would  he  say  if  you  were  to  stop  and  in- 
troduce me  to  him  as  Dr.  Breen  ? " 

"  Oh,  he  knows  who  you  are.     It 's  Johnson." 

"The  one  whose  clothes  you  came  over  in,  that 
morning  ? " 

"  Yes.     I  suppose  you  laughed  at  me." 

"  I  liked  your  having  the  courage  to  do  it.  But 
how  does  he  know  me  ?  " 

"I  —  I  described  you.    He  's  rather  an  old  friend." 

This  also  amused  her.  "I  should  like  to  hear 
how  you  described  me." 

"  I  will  tell  you  sometime.  It  was  an  elaborate 
description.  I  could  n't  get  through  with  it  now  be- 
fore we  landed." 

The  old  town  had  come  out  of  the  haze  of  the  dis- 
tance, —  a  straggling  village  of  weather-beaten  wood 
and  weather-beaten  white  paint,  picturesque,  but  no 
longer  a  vision  of  gray  stone  and  pale  marble.  A 
coal-yard,  and  a  brick  locomotive  house,  and  rambling 
railroad  sheds  stretched  along  the  water-front.  They 
found  their  way  easily  enougli  through  the  sparse 
shipping  to  the  steps  at  the  end  of  the  wooden  pier, 
where  Libby  dropped  the  sail  and  made  his  boat 
fast. 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  141 

A  little  pleasant  giddiness,  as  if  the  lightness  of 
her  heart  had  mounted  to  her  head,  made  her  glad  of 
his  arm  up  these  steps  and  up  the  wharf;  and  she 
kept  it  as  they  climbed  the  sloping  elm-shaded 
village  street  to  the  main  thoroughfare,  with  its 
brick  sidewalks,  its  shops  and  awnings,  and  its  cheer- 
ful stir  and  traffic. 

The  telegraph  office  fronted  the  head  of  the  street 
which  they  had  ascended.  "You  can  sit  here  in  the 
apothecary's  till  I  come  down,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  think  that  will  be  professionally  appropri- 
ate ?  I  am  only  a  nurse  now." 

"  No,  I  was  n't  thinking  of  that.  But  I  saw  a 
chair  in  there.  And  we  can  make  a  pretense  of 
wanting  some  soda.  It  is  the  proper  thing  to  treat 
young  ladies  to  soda  when  one  brings  them  in  from 
the  country." 

"  It  does  have  that  appearance,"  she  assented,  with 
a  smile.  She  kept  him  waiting  with  what  would 
have  looked  like  coquettish  hesitation  in  another, 
while  she  glanced  at  the  windows  overhead,  pierced 
by  a  skein  of  converging  wires.  "  Suppose  I  go  up 
with  you  ? " 

"  I  should  like  that  better,"  he  said ;  and  she  fol- 
lowed him  lightly  up  the  stairs  that  led  to  the  tele- 
graph office.  A  young  man  stood  at  the  machine 


142  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

with  a  cigar  in  his  inouth,  and  his  eyes  intent  upon 
the  ribbon  of  paper  unreeling  itself  before  him. 

"  Just  hold  on/'  he  said  to  Libby,  without  turning 
his  head.  "  I  've  got'  something  here  for  you."  He 
read  :  " '  Despatch  received  yesterday.  Coming  right 
through.  George  Maynard.' " 

"  Good  ! "  cried  Libby. 

"  Dated  Council  Bluffs.     Want  it  written  out  ? " 

"No.     What's  to  pay?" 

"  Paid,"  said  the  operator. 

The  laconically  transacted  business  ended  with  this, 
the  wire  began  to  cluck  again  like  the  anxious  hen 
whose  manner  the  most  awful  and  mysterious  of  the 
elements  assumes  in  becoming  articulate,  and  nothing 
remained  for  them  but  to  come  away. 

"That  was  what  I  was  afraid  of,"  said  Libby. 
"  Maynard  was  at  his  ranch,  and  it  must  have  been  a 
good  way  out.  They  're  fifty  or  sixty  miles  out,  some- 
times. That  would  account  for  the  delay.  Well, 
Mrs.  Maynard  does  n't  know  how  long  it  takes  to 
come  from  Cheyenne,  and  we  can  tell  her  he 's  ou  the 
way,  and  has  telegraphed."  They  were  walking 
rapidly  down  the  street  to  the  wharf  where  his  boat 
lay.  "  Oh  ! "  he  exclaimed,  halting  abruptly.  "  I 
pnmiisi'd  to  send  you  back  by  land,  if  you  preferred." 

"  Has  the  wind  fallen  ? " 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  143 

"  Oh,  no.     We  shall  have  a  good  breeze." 

"  I  won't  put  yon  to  the  trouble  of  getting  a  horse. 
I  can  go  back  perfectly  well  in  the  boat." 

"  Well,  that 's  what  I  think,"  he  said  cheerily. 

She  did  not  respond,  and  he  could  not  be  aware 
that  any  change  had  come  over  her  mood.  But 
when  they  were  once  more  seated  in  the  boat,  and  the 
sail  was  pulling  in  the  fresh  breeze,  she  turned  to  him 
with  a  scarcely  concealed  indignation.  "  Have  you  a 
fancy  for  experimenting  upon  people,  Mr.  Libby  ? " 

"  Experimenting  ?  I  ?  I  don't  know  in  the  least 
what  you  mean  ! " 

"Why  did  you  tell  me  that  the  operator  was  a 
woman  ? " 

"  Because  the  other  operator  is,"  he  answered. 

"  Oh  ! "  she  said,  and  fell  blankly  silent. 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  business  there.  They  have 
to  have  two  operators,"  he  explained,  after  a  pause. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  she  murmured  in  deep  humilia- 
tion. If  he  had  suffered  her  to  be  silent  as  long  as 
she  would,  she  might  have  offered  him  some  repara- 
tion ;  but  he  spoke. 

"  Why  did  you  think  I  had  been  experimenting  on 
you  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Why  ? "  she  repeated.  The  sense  of  having  put 
herself  in  the  wrong  exasperated  her  with  him.  "  Oh, 


144  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

I  dare  say  you  were  curious.  Don't  you  suppose  I 
have  noticed  that  men  are  puzzled  at  me  ?  What  did 
you  mean  by  saying  that  you  thought  I  would  be 
equal  to  anything  ? " 

"  I  meant  —  I  thought  you  would  like  to  be  treated 
frankly." 

"  And  you  would  n't  treat  everybody  so  ?  " 

"  I  would  n't  treat  Mrs.  Maynard  so." 

"  Oh  ! "  she  said.     "  You  treat  me  upon  a  theory." 

"  Don't  you  like  that  ?  We  treat  everybody  upon 
a  theory  "  — 

"  Yes,  I  know  "  — 

"  And  I  should  tell  you  the  worst  of  anything  at 
once,  because  I  think  you  are  one  of  the  kind  that 
don't  like  to  have  their  conclusions  made  for  them." 

"  And  you  would  really  let  women  make  their  own 
conclusions,"  she  said.  "  You  are  very  peculiar  ! " 
She  waited  a  while,  and  then  she  asked,  "  And  what 
is  your  theory  of  me  ? " 

"  That  you  are  very  peculiar." 

"  How  ? " 

"  You  are  proud." 

"  And  is  pride  so  very  peculiar  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  in  women." 

"  Indeed !  You  set  up  for  a  connoisseur  of  female 
character.  That 's  very  common,  nowadays.  Why 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  145 

don't  you  tell  me  something  more  about  yourself? 
We  're  always  talking  about  me." 

He  might  well  have  been  doubtful  of  her  humor. 
He  seemed  to  decide  that  she  was  jesting,  for  he  an- 
swered lightly,  "  Why,  you  began  it." 

"  I  know  I  did,  this  time.  But  now  I  wish  to  stop 
it,  too." 

He  looked  down  at  the  tiller  in  his  hands.  "  Well," 
he  said,  "  I  should  like  to  tell  you  about  myself.  I 
should  like  to  know  what  you  think  of  the  kind  of 
man  I  am.  Will  you  be  honest  if  I  will  ?  " 

"  That 's  a  very  strange  condition,"  she  answered, 
meeting  and  then  avoiding  the  gaze  he  lilted  to  her 
face. 

"  What  ?     Being  honest  ? " 

"Well,  no-     Or,  yes!" 

"  It  is  n't  for  you." 

"  Thank  you.     But  I  'm  not  under  discussion  now." 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,"  he  began,  "  I  was  afraid 
of  you  when  we  met." 

"  Afraid  of  me  ? " 

"  That  is  n't  the  word,  perhaps.  We  1]  say  ashamed 
of  myself.  Mrs.  Maynard  told  me  about  you,  and  I 
thought  you  would  despise  me  for  not  doing  or  being 
anything  in  particular.  I  thought  you  must." 

"Indeed!" 

10 


146  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

He  hesitated,  as  if  still  uncertain  of  her  rnood 
from  this  intonation,  and  then  he  went  on :  "  But  I 
had  some  little  hope  you  would  tolerate  me,  after  all. 
You  looked  like  a  friend  I  used  to  have.  —  Do  you 
mind  my  telling  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  Though  I  can't  say  that  it 's  ever  very 
comfortable  to  be  told  that  you  look  like  some  one 
else." 

"I  don't  suppose  any  one  else  would  have  been 
struck  by  the  resemblance,"  said  Libby,  with  a  laugh 
of  reminiscence.  "  He  was  huge.  But  he  had  eyes 
like  a  girl,  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  —  like  yours." 

"  You  mean  that  I  have  eyes  like  a  man." 

He  laughed,  and  said,  "  No,"  and  then  turned  grave. 
"  As  long  as  he  lived  "  — 

"  Oh,  is  he  dead  ? "  she  asked  more  gently  than  she 
had  yet  spoken. 

"  Yes,  he  died  just  before  I  went  abroad.  I  went 
out  on  business  for  my  father,  —  he  's  an  importer 
and  jobber,  —  and  bought  goods  for  him.  Do  you 
despise  business  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it." 

"  I  did  it  to  please  my  father,  and  he  said  I  was  a 
very  good  buyer.  He  thinks  there 's  nothing  like 
buying  —  except  selling.  He  used  to  sell  things 
himself,  over  the  counter,  and  not  so  long  ago,  either. 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  147 

I  fancied  it  made  a  difference  for  me  when  I  was  in 
college,  and  that  the  yardstick  came  between  me  and 
society.  I  was  an  ass  for  thinking  anything  about  it. 
Though  I  did  n't  really  care,  much.  I  never  liked 
society,  and  I  did  like  boats  and  horses.  I  thought 
of  a  profession,  once.  But  it  would  n't  work.  I  've 
been  round  the  world  twice,  and  I  Ve  done  nothing 
but  enjoy  myself  since  I  left  college,  —  or  try  to. 
When  I  first  saw  you  I  was  hesitating  about  letting 
my  father  make  me  of  use.  He  wants  me  to  become 
one  of  the  most  respectable  members  of  society,  — 
he  wants  me  to  be  a  cotton-spinner.  You  know 
there  's  nothing  so  irreproachable  as  cotton,  for  a 
business  ? " 

"  No.     I  don't  know  about  those  things." 

"  Well,  there  is  n't.  When  I  was  abroad,  buying 
and  selling,  I  made  a  little  discovery :  I  found  that 
there  were  goods  we  could  make  and  sell  in  the  Euro- 
pean market  cheaper  than  the  English,  and  that  gave 
my  father  the  notion  of  buying  a  mill  to  make  them. 
I  'm  boring  you  !  " 

"  No." 

"Well,  he  bought  it;  and  he  wants  me  to  take 
charge  of  it." 

"And  shall  you?" 

"  Do  you  think  I  'm  fit  for  it  ? " 


148  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

"  I  ?     How  should  I  know  ? " 

"  You  don't  know  cotton ;  but  you  know  me  a  little. 
Do  I  strike  you.  as  fit  for  anything  ? "  She  made  no 
reply  to  this,  and  he  laughed.  "  I  assure  you  I  felt 
small  enough  when  I  heard  what  you  had  done,  and 
thought  what  I  had  done.  It  gave  me  a  start ;  and  I 
wrote  my  father  that  night  that  I  would  go  in  for  it." 

"  I  once  thought  of  going  to  a  factory  town,"  she 
answered,  without  wilful  evasion,  "  to  begin  my  prac- 
tice there  among  the  operatives'  children.  I  should 
have  done  it  if  it  had  not  been  for  coining  here  with 
Mrs.  Maynard.  It  would  have  been  better  "  — 

"  Come  to  my  factory  town,  Miss  Breen !  There 
ought  to  be  fevers  there  in  the  autumn,  with  all  the 
low  lands  that  I  'm  allowed  to  flood.  Mrs.  Maynard 
told  me  about  your  plan." 

"  Pray,  what  else  did  Mrs.  Maynard  tell  you  about 
me?" 

"  About  your  taking  up  a  profession,  in  the  way  you 
did,  when  you  need  n't,  and  when  you  did  n't  particu- 
larly like  it." 

"  Oh  !"  she  said.  Then  she  added,  "And  because 
I  was  n't  obliged  to  it,  and  did  n't  like  it,  you  tolerated 
me?" 

"  Tolerated  ? "  he  echoed. 

This  vexed  her.     "  Yes,  tolerate  !     Everybody,  in- 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  149 

terested  or  not,  has  to  make  up  his  mind  whether  to 
tolerate  me  as  soon  as  he  hears  what  I  am.  What 
excuse  did  you  make  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  did  n't  make  any,"  said  Libby. 

"  But  you  had  your  misgiving,  your  surprise." 

"I  thought  if  you  could  stand  it,  other  people 
might.  I  thought  it  was  your  affair." 

"  Just  as  if  I  had  been  a  young  man  ? " 

"  No  !     That  was  n't  possible." 

She  was  silent.  Then,  "  The  conversation  has  got 
back  into  the  old  quarter,"  she  said.  "  You  are  talk- 
ing about  me  again.  Have  you  heard  from  your 
friends  since  they  went  away  ? " 

"  What  friends  ?  " 

"  Those  you  were  camping  with." 

"No." 

"  What  did  they  say  when  they  heard  that  you  had 
found  a  young  doctress  at  Jocelyn's  ?  How  did  you 
break  the  fact  to  them  ?  What  jokes  did  they  make  ? 
You  need  n't  be  afraid  to  tell  me  ! "  she  cried.  "  Give 
me  Mr.  Johnson's  comments." 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise  that  incensed  her  still 
more,  and  rendered  her  incapable  of  regarding  the 
pain  with  which  he  answered  her.  "  I  'm  afraid,"  he 
said,  "  that  I  have  done  something  to  offend  you." 

"  Oh  no  !    What  could  you  have  done  ? " 


150  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  Then  you  really  mean  to  ask  me  whether  I  would 
let  any  one  make  a  joke  of  you  in  my  presence  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  why  not  ? " 

"  Because  it  was  impossible,"  he  answered. 

"  Why  was  it  impossible  ?  "  she  pursued. 

"  Because  —  I  love  you." 

She  had  been  looking  him  defiantly  in  the  eyes,  and 
she  could  not  withdraw  her  gaze.  For  the  endless 
moment  that  ensued,  her  breath  was  taken  away. 
Then  she  asked  in  a  low,  steady  voice,  "  Did  you  mean 
to  say  that  ? " 

"No." 

"  I  believe  you,  and  I  forgive  you.  No,  no  ! "  she 
cried,  at  a  demonstration  of  protest  from  him,  "  don't 
speak  again ! " 

He  obeyed,  instantly,  implicitly.  With  the  tiller 
in  his  hand  he  looked  past  her  and  guided  the  boat's 
course.  It  became  intolerable. 

"Have  I  ever  done  anything  that  gave  you  the 
right  to  —  to  —  say  that  ? "  she  asked,  without  the  self- 
command  which  she  might  have  wished  to  show. 

"No,"  he  said,  "you  were  only  the  most  beau- 
tiful "  - 

"  I  am  not  beautiful !     And  if  I  were  "  — 

"  It  was  n't  to  be  helped !  I  saw  from  the  first 
how  good  and  noble  you  were,  and  "  — 


DR.   BKEEN'S  PRACTICE.  151 

"  This  is  absurd  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  am  neither 
good  nor  noble ;  and  if  I  were  "  — 

"  It  would  n't  make  any  difference.  Whatever  you 
are,  you  are  the  one  woman  in  the  world  to  me ;  and 
you  always  will  be." 

"Mr.  Libby!" 

"  Oh,  I  must  speak  now  !  You  were  always  think- 
ing,  because  you  had  studied  a  man's  profession,  that 
no  one  would  think  of  you  as  a  woman,  as  if  that 
could  make  any  difference  to  a  man  that  had  the  soul 
of  a  man  in  him  ! " 

"  No,  no  ! "  she  protested.     "  I  did  n't  think  that. 
I  always  expected  to  be  considered  as  a  woman/' 

"  But  not  as  a  woman  to  fall  in  love  with.  I  under- 
stood. And  that  somehow  made  you  all  the  dearer 
to  ine.  If  you  had  been  a  girl  like  other  girls,  I 
should  n't  have  cared  for  you." 

"Oh!" 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  speak  to  you  to-day.  But  some- 
time I  did  mean  to  speak ;  because,  whatever  I  was, 
I  loved  you ;  and  I  thought  you  did  n't  dislike  me." 

"  I  did  like  you,"  she  murmured,  "  very  much.  And 
I  respected  you.  But  you  can't  say  that  I  ever  gave 
you  any  hope  in  this  —  this  —  way."  She  almost 
asked  him  if  she  had. 

"No, —  not  purposely.     And  if  you  did,  it's  over 


152  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

now.  You  have  rejected  me.  I  understand  that. 
There  's  no  reason  why  you  should  n't.  And  I  can 
hold  my  tongue."  He  did  not  turn,  but  looked 
steadily  past  her  at  the  boat's  head. 

An  emotion  stirred  in  her  breast  which  took  the 
form  of  a  reproach.  "  Was  it  fair,  then,  to  say  this 
when  neither  of  us  could  escape  afterwards  ? " 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  speak,"  he  said,  without  looking 
up,  "  and  I  never  meant  to  place  you  where  you 
could  n't  escape." 

It  was  true  that  she  had  proposed  to  go  with  him  in 
the  boat,  and  that  she  had  chosen  to  come  back  with 
him,  when  he  had  offered  to  have  her  driven  home 
from  Leyden.  "  No,  you  are  not  to  blame,"  she  said,  at 
last.  "  I  asked  to  come  with  you.  Shall  I  tell  you 
why  ? "  Her  voice  began  to  break.  In  her  pity  for 
him  and  her  shame  for  herself  the  tears  started  to  her 
eyes.  She  did  not  press  her  question,  but,  "  Thank 
you  for  reminding  me  that  I  invited  myself  to  go 
with  you,"  she  said,  witli  feeble  bitterness. 

He  looked  up  at  her  in  silent  wonder,  and  she 
broke  into  a  sob.  He  said  gently,  "  I  don't  suppose 
you  expect  me  to  deny  that.  You  don't  think  me 
such  a  poor  dog  as  that." 

"  Why,  of  course  not,"  she  answered,  with  quivering 
lips,  while  she  pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  153 

"I  was  only  too  glad  to  have  you  come.  I  al- 
ways meant  to  tell  you  —  what  I  have  told ;  but 
not  when  I  should  seem  to  trap  you  into  listen- 
ing." 

"  No/'  she  murmured,  "  I  can  believe  that  of  you. 
I  do  believe  it.  I  take  back  what  I  said.  Don't  let 
us  speak  of  it  any  more  now,"  she  continued,  strug- 
gling for  her  lost  composure,  with  what  success  ap- 
peared in  the  fresh  outburst  with  which  she  recognized 
his  forbearance  to  hint  at  any  painfulness  to  himself 
in  the  situation. 

"  I  don't  mind  it  so  much  on  my  account,  but  oh  ! 
how  could  you  for  your  own  sake  ?  Do  let  us  get 
home  as  fast  as  we  can ! " 

"  I  am  doing  everything  I  can  to  release  you,"  he 
said.  "  If  you  will  sit  here,"  he  added,  indicating  the 
place  beside  him  in  the  stern,  "  you  won't  have  to 
change  so  much  when  I  want  to  tack." 

She  took  the  other  seat,  and  for  the  first  time  she 
noticed  that  the  wind  had  grown  very  light.  She 
watched  him  with  a  piteous  impatience  while  he 
shifted  the  sail  from  side  to  side,  keeping  the  sheet 
in  his  hand  for  convenience  in  the  frequent  changes. 
He  scanned  the  sky,  and  turned  every  current  of  the 
ebbing  tide  to  account.  It  was  useless ;  the  boat 
crept,  and  presently  it  scarcely  moved. 


154  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"The  wind  -is  down,"  lie  said,  making  the  sheet 
fast,  and  relaxing  his  hold  on  the  tiller. 

"And  the  tide  is  going  out!"  she  exclaimed. 

"  The  tide  is  going  out,"  he  admitted. 

"  If  we  should  get  caught  on  these  flats,"  she  be- 
gan, with  rising  indignation. 

"  We  should  have  to  stay  till  the  tide  turned." 

She  looked  wildly  about  for  aid.  If  there  were 
a  row-boat  anywhere  within  hail,  she  could  be  taken 
to  Jocelyn's  in  that.  But  they  were  quite  alone  on 
those  lifeless  waters. 

Libby  got  out  a  pair  of  heavy  oars  from  the  bottom 
of  the  boat,  and,  setting  the  rowlocks  on  either  side, 
tugged  silently  at  them. 

The  futile  effort  suggested  an  idea  to  her  which 
doubtless  she  would  not  have  expressed  if  she  had  not 
been  lacking,  as  she  once  said,  in  a  sense  of  humor. 

"  Why  don't  you  whistle  for  a  wind  ? " 

He  stared  at  her  in  sad  astonishment  to  make  sure 
that  she  was  in  earnest,  and  then,  "  Whistle  ! "  he 
echoed  forlornly,  and  broke  into  a  joyless  laugh. 

"  You  knew  the  chances  of  delay  that  I  took  in 
asking  to  come  with  you,"  she  cried,  "  and  you 
should  have  warned  me.  It  was  ungenerous  —  it 
was  ungentlemanly  ! " 

"  It  was  whatever  you  like.     I  must  be  to  blame. 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  155 

I  suppose  I  was  too  glad  to  have  you  come.  If  I 
thought  anything,  I  thought  you  must  have  some 
particular  errand  at  Leyden.  You  seemed  anxious  to 
go,  even  if  it  stormed." 

"If  it  had  stormed,"  she  retorted,  "I  should  not 
have  cared  !  I  hoped  it  would  storm.  Then  at  least 
I  should  have  run  the  same  danger,  —  I  hoped  it  would 
be  dangerous." 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean,"  he  said. 

"  I  forced  that  wretched  creature  to  go  with  you 
that  day  when  you  said  it  was  going  to  be  rough  ;  and 
I  shall  have  her  blood  upon  my  hands  if  she  dies  "  — 

"  Is  it  possible,"  cried  Libby,  pulling  in  his  useless 
oars,  and  leaning  forward  upon  them,  "  that  she  has 
gone  on  letting  you  think  I  believed  there  was  going 
to  be  a  storm  ?  She  knew  perfectly  well  that  I 
did  n't  mind  what  Adams  said  ;  he  was  always  croak- 
ing." She  sat  looking  at  him  in  a  daze,  but  she  could 
not  speak,  and  he  continued.  "  I  see  :  it  happened  by 
one  chance  in  a  million  to  turn  out  as  he  said ;  and 
she  has  been  making  you  pay  for  it.  Why,  I  sup- 
pose," he  added,  with  a  melancholy  smile  of  intelli- 
gence, "  she 's  had  so  much  satisfaction  in  holding  you 
responsible  for  what 's  happened,  that  she 's  almost 
glad  of  it!" 

"  She  has  tortured  me  ! "  cried  the  girl.    "  But  you  — 


156  DR.   BEEEN'S   PRACTICE. 

you,  when  you  saw  that  I  did  n't  believe  there  was 
going  to  be  any  storm,  why  did  you  —  why  did  n't 
you  "  — 

"  I  did  n't  believe  it  either  !  It  was  Mrs.  Maynard 
that  proposed  the  sail,  but  when  I  saw  that  you  did  n't 
like  it  I  was  glad  of  any  excuse  for  putting  it  off. 
I  could  n't  help  wanting  to  please  you,  and  I  could  n't 
see  why  you  urged  us  afterwards ;  but  I  supposed  you 
had  some  reason." 

She  passed  her  hand  over  her  forehead,  as  if  to 
clear  away  the  confusion  in  which  all  this  involved 
her.  "  But  why  —  why  did  you  let  me  go  on  thinking 
myself  to  blame  "  — 

"  How  could  I  know  what  you  were  thinking  ? 
Heaven  knows  I  did  n't  dream  of  such  a  thing ! 
Though  I  remember,  now,  your  saying  "  — 

"  Oh,  I  see  ! "  she  cried.  "  You  are  a  man  !  But 
I  can't  forgive  it,  —  no,  I  can't  forgive  it !  You 
wished  to  deceive  her  if  you  did  n't  wish  to  deceive 
me.  How  can  you  excuse  yourself  for  repeating  what 
you  did  n't  believe  ? " 

"  I  was  willing  she  should  think  Adams  was  right." 

"  And  that  was  deceit.    What  can  you  say  to  it  ? " 

"There  is  only  one  thing  I  could  say,"  he  mur- 
mured, looking  hopelessly  into  her  eyes,  "  and  that 's 
of  no  use." 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  157 

She  turned  her  head  away.  Her  tragedy  had  fallen 
to  nothing ;  or  rather  it  had  never  been.  All  her 
remorse,  all  her  suffering,  was  mere  farce  now ;  but 
his  guilt  in  the  matter  was  the  greater.  A  fierce 
resentment  burned  in  her  heart ;  she  longed  to  make 
him  feel  something  of  the  anguish  she  had  needlessly 
"undergone. 

He  sat  watching  her  averted  face.  "  Miss  Breen," 
he  said  huskily,  "  will  you  let  me  speak  to  you  ? " 

"  Oh,  you  have  me  in  your  power,"  she  answered 
cruelly.  "  Say  what  you  like." 

He  did  not  speak,  nor  make  any  motion  to  do  so. 
A  foolish,  idle  curiosity  to  know  what,  after  all  that 
had  happened,  he  could  possibly  have  to  say,  stirred 
within  her,  but  she  disdainfully  stifled  it.  They  were 
both  so  still  that  a  company  of  seals  found  it  safe  to 
put  their  heads  above  water,  and  approach  near  enough 
to  examine  her  with  their  round  soft  eyes.  She  turned 
from  the  silly  things  in  contempt  that  they  should 
even  have  interested  her.  She  felt  that  from  time  to 
time  her  companion  lifted  an  anxious  glance  to  the 
dull  heavens.  At  last  the  limp  sail  faintly  stirred ; 
it  flapped  ;  it  filled  shallowly ;  the  boat  moved.  The 
sail  seemed  to  have  had  a  prescience  of  the  wind  be- 
fore it  passed  over  the  smooth  water  like  a  shadow. 

When  a  woman  says  she  never  will  forgive  a  man, 


158  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

she  always  has  a  condition  of  forgiveness  in  her  heart. 
Now  that  the  wind  had  risen  again,  "  I  have  no  right 
to  forbid  you  to  speak,"  she  said,  as  if  no  silence  had 
elapsed,  and  she  turned  round  and  quietly  confronted 
him ;  she  no  longer  felt  so  impatient  to  escape. 

He  did  not  meet  her  eye  at  once,  and  he  seemed  in 
no  haste  to  avail  himself  of  the  leave  granted  him. 
A  heavy  sadness  blotted  the  gayety  of  a  face  whose 
sunny  sympathy  had  been  her  only  cheer  for  many 
days.  She  fancied  a  bewilderment  in  its  hopelessness 
which  smote  her  with  still  sharper  pathos.  "Of 
course,"  she  said,  "I  appreciate  your  wish  to  do  what 
I  wanted,  about  Mrs.  Maynard.  I  remember  my 
telling  you  that  she  ought  n't  to  go  out,  that  day. 
But  that  was  not  the  way  to  do  it." 

"  There  was  no  other,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  she  assented,  upon  reflection.  "  Then  it 
ought  n't  to  have  been  done." 

He  showed  no  sign  of  intending  to  continue,  and 
after  a  moment  of  restlessness,  she  began  again. 

"  If  I  have  been  rude  or  hasty  in  refusing  to  hear 
you,  Mr.  Libby,  I  am  very  wrong.  I  must  hear  any- 
thing you  have  to  say." 

"  Oh,  not  unless  you  wish." 

"  I  wish  whatever  you  wish." 

"I'm  not  sure   that   I  wish  that  now.     I  have 


DR.  SHEEN'S  PRACTICE.  159 

thought  it  over ;  I  should  only  distress  you  for  nothing. 
You  are  letting  me  say  why  sentence  should  n't  be 
passed  upon  me.  Sentence  is  going  to  be  passed  any 
way.  I  should  only  repeat  what  I  have  said.  You 
would  pity  me,  but  you  could  n't  help  me.  And  that 
would  give  you  pain  for  nothing.  No,  it  would  be 
useless." 

"It  would  be  useless  to  talk  to  me  about — loving." 
She  took  the  word  on  her  lips  with  a  certain  effect  of 
adopting  it  for  convenience'  sake  in  her  vocabulary. 
"  All  that  was  ended  for  me  long  ago,  —  ten  years 
ago.  And  my  whole  life  since  then  has  been  shaped 
to  do  without  it.  I  will  tell  you  my  story  if  you 
like.  Perhaps  it's  your  due.  I  wish  to  be  just. 
You  may  have  a  right  to  know." 

"  No,  I  have  n't.  But  —  perhaps  I  ought  to  say 
that  Mrs.  Maynard  told  me  something." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  of  that,  though  she  had  no  right 
to  do  it.  Then  you  can  understand." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can  understand.  I  don't  pretend  that 
I  had  any  reason  in  it." 

He  forbore  again  to  urge  any  plea  for  himself,  and 
once  more  she  was  obliged  to  interfere  in  his  behalf. 
"Mr.  Libby,  I  have  never  confessed  that  I  once 
wronged  you  in  a  way  that  I  'm  very  sorry  for." 

"  About  Mrs.  Maynard  ?     Yes,  I  know.     I  won't 


160  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

try  to  whitewash  myself;  but  it  didn't  occur  to 
me  how  it  would  look.  I  wanted  to  talk  with  her 
about  you." 

"You  ought  to  have  considered  her,  though,"  she 
said  gently. 

"She  ought  to  have  considered  herself,"  he  re- 
tortedi  with  his  unfailing  bitterness  for  Mrs.  May- 
nard.  "  But  it  does  n't  matter  whose  fault  it  was. 
I  'in  sufficiently  punished ;  for  I  know  that  it  injured 
me  with  you." 

"  It  did  at  first.  But  now  I  can  see  that  I  was 
wrong.  I  wished  to  tell  you  that.  It  is  n't  credit- 
able to  me  that  I  thought  you  intended  to  flirt  with 
her.  If  I  had  been  better  myself"  — 

"  You  ! "     He  could  not  say  more. 

That  utter  faith  in  her  was  very  charming.  It 
softened  her  more  and  more;  it  made  her  wish  to 
reason  with  him,  and  try  gently  to  show  him  how 
impossible  his  hope  was..  "And  you  know,"  she  said, 
recurring  to  something  that  had  gone  before,  "that 
even  if  I  had  cared  for  you  in  the  way  you  wish,  it 
couldn't  be.  You  wouldn't  want  to  have  people 
laughing  and  saying  I  had  been  a  doctress." 

"I  shouldn't  have  minded.  I  know  how  much 
people's  talk  is  worth." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  know  you  would  be  generous 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  161 

and  brave  about  that  —  about  anything.  But  what 
—  what  if  I  could  n't  give  up  my  career  —  my  hopes 
of  being  useful  in  the  way  I  have  planned  ?  You 
would  n't  have  liked  me  to  go  on  practising  medicine  ? " 

"I  thought  of  that/'  he  answered  simply.  "I  didn't 
see  how  it  could  be  done.  But  if  you  saw  any  way, 
I  was  willing  —  No,  that  was  my  great  trouble  !  I 
knew  that  it  was  selfish  in  me,  and  very  conceited,  to 
suppose  you  would  give  up  your  whole  life  for  me ; 
and  whenever  I  thought  of  that,  I  determined  not 
to  ask  you.  But  I  tried  not  to  think  of  that." 

"Well,  don't  you  see?  But  if  I  could  have 
answered  you  as  you  wish,  it  wouldn't  have  been 
anything  to  give  up  everything  for  you.  A  woman 
isn't  something  else  first,  and  a  woman  afterwards. 
I  understand  how  unselfishly  you  meant,  and  indeed, 
indeed,  I  thank  you.  But  don't  let 's  talk  of  it  any 
more.  It  could  n't  have  been,  and  there  is  nothing 
but  misery  in  thinking  of  it.  "  Come,"  she  said,  with 
a  struggle  for  cheerfulness,  "  let  us  forget  it.  Let  it 
be  just  as  if  you  had  n't  spoken  to  me ;  I  know  you 
didn't  intend  to  do  it;  and  let  us  go  on  as  if  nothing 
had  happened." 

"  Oh,  we  can't  go  on,"  he  answered.  "  I  shall  get 
away,  as  soon  as  Maynard  comes,  and  rid  you  of  the 
sight  of  me." 

11 


162  DR.  BEEEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  Are  you  going  away  ? "  she  softly  asked.  "  Why 
need  you  ?  I  know  that  people  always  seem  to 
think  they  can't  be  friends  after  —  such  a  thing  as 
this.  But  why  should  n't  we  ?  I  respect  you,  and  I 
like  you  very  much.  You  have  shown  me  more  re- 
gard and  more  kindness  than  any  other  friend  "  — 

"But  I  was  n't  your  friend/'  he  interrupted.  " I 
loved  you." 

"  Well,"  she  sighed,  in  gentle  perplexity,  "  then  you 
can't  be  my  friend  ? " 

"  Never.  But  I  shall  always  love  you.  If  it  would 
do  any  good,  I  would  stay,  as  you  ask  it.  I  should  n't 
mind  myself.  But  I  should  be  a  nuisance  to  you." 

"  No,  no  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  will  take  the  risk 
of  that.  I  need  your  advice,  your — sympathy,  your — 
You  won't  trouble  me,  indeed  you  won't.  Perhaps 
you  have  mistaken  your  —  feeling  about  me.  It 's 
such  a  very  little  time  since  we  met,"  she  pleaded. 

"  That  makes  no  difference,  —  the  time.  And  I  'in 
not  mistaken." 

"Well,  stay  at  least  till  Mrs.  Maynard  ia  well, 
and  we  can  all  go  away  together.  Promise  me  that !  " 
She  instinctively  put  out  her  hand  toward  him  in 
entreaty.  He  took  it,  and  pressing  it  to  his  lips  cov- 
ered it  with  kisses.  "  Oh  !"  she  grieved  in  reproach- 
ful surprise. 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  163 

"  There  ! "  he  cried.     "  You  see  that  I  must  go  ! " 
"  Yes,"  she  sighed  in  assent,  "  you  must  go." 
They  did  not  look  at  each  other  again,  but  remained 
in  a  lamentable  silence  while  the  boat  pushed  swiftly 
before  the  freshening  breeze ;  and  when  they  reached 
the  place  where  the  dory  lay,  he  dropped  the  sail  and 
threw  out  the  anchor  without  a  word. 

He  was  haggard  to  the  glance  she  stole  at  him, 
when  they  had  taken  their  places  in  the  dory,  and  he 
confronted  her,  pulling  hard  at  the  oars.  He  did  not 
lift  his  eyes  to  hers,  but  from  time  to  time  he  looked 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  boat's  prow,  and  he  rowed 
from  one  point  to  another  for  a  good  landing.  A 
dreamy  pity  for  him  filled  her;  through  the  memories 
of  her  own  suffering,  she  divined  the  soreness  of  his 
heart. 

She  started  from  her  reverie  as  the  bottom  of  the 
dory  struck  the  sand.  The  shoal  water  stretched 
twenty  feet  beyond.  He  pulled  in  the  oars  and  rose 
desperately.  "  It 's  of  no  use  :  I  shall  have  to  carry 
you  ashore." 

She  sat  staring  up  into  his  face,  and  longing  to  ask 
him  something,  to  accuse  him  of  having  done  this 
purposely.  But  she  had  erred  in  so  many  doubts, 
her  suspicions  of  him  had  all  recoiled  so  pitilessly 
upon  her,  that  she  had  no  longer  the  courage  to  ques- 


164  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

tion  or  reproach  him.  "  Oh,  no,  thank  you,"  she  said 
weakly.  "  I  won't  trouble  you.  I  —  I  will  wait  till 
the  tide  is  out." 

"  The  tide 's  out  now,"  he  answered  with  coldness, 
"  and  you  can't  wade." 

She  rose  desperately.  "  Why,  of  course ! "  she  cried 
in  self-contempt,  glancing  at  the  water,  into  which 
he  promptly  stepped  to  his  boot-tops.  "A  woman 
must  n't  get  her  feet  wet." 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  165 


VIII. 

GRACE  went  to  her  own  room  to  lay  aside  her  shawl 
and  hat  before  going  to  Mrs.  Maynard,  and  found 
her  mother  sewing  there. 

"  Why,  who  is  with  Mrs.  Maynard  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Miss  Gleason  is  reading  to  her,"  said  Mrs.  Breen. 
"  If  she  had  any  sort  of  active  treatment,  she  could 
get  well  at  once.  I  could  n't  take  the  responsibility 
of  doing  anything  for  her,  and  it  was  such  a  worry  to 
stay  and  see  everything  going  wrong,  that  when  Miss 
Gleason  came  in  I  was  glad  to  get  away.  Miss  Glea- 
son seems  to  believe  in  your  Dr.  Mulbridge." 

"  My  Dr.  Mulbridge  ! "  echoed  Grace. 

"  She  talked  of  him  as  if  he  were  yours.  I  don't 
know  what  you  Ve  been  saying  to  her  about  him ; 
but  you  had  better  be  careful.  The  woman  is  a 
fool."  She  now  looked  up  at  her  daughter  for  the 
first  time.  "  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 
What  kept  you  so  long  ?  You  look  perfectly  wild." 

"  I  feel  wild,"  said  Grace  calmly.  "  The  wind  went 
down." 


166  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"Was  that  all?  I  don't  see  why  that  should 
make  you  feel  wild,"  said  her  mother,  dropping  her 
spectacles  to  her  sewing  again. 

"It  wasn't  all,"  answered  the  girl,  sinking  pro- 
visionally upon  the  side  of  a  chair,  with  her  shawl 
still  on  her  arm,  arid  her  hat  in  her  hand.  "  Moth- 
er, have  you  noticed  anything  peculiar  about  Mr. 
Libby?" 

"  He 's  the  only  person  who  seems  to  be  of  the 
slightest  use  about  here  ;  I  Ve  noticed  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Breen.  "He's  always  going  and  coming  for  you 
and  Mrs.  Maynard.  Where  is  that  worthless  hus- 
band of  hers  ?  Has  n't  he  had  time  to  come  from 
Cheyenne  yet  ? " 

"  He 's  on  the  way.  He  was  out  at  his  ranch  when 
Mr.  Libby  telegraphed  first,  and  had  to  be  sent  for. 
We  found  a  despatch  from  him  at  Leyden,  saying 
he  had  started,"  Grace  explained. 

"  What  business  had  he  to  be  so  far  away  at  all  ? " 
demanded  her  mother.  It  was  plain  that  Mrs.  Breen 
was  in  her  most  censorious  temper,  which  had  prob- 
ably acquired  a  sharper  edge  towards  Maynard  from 
her  reconciliation  with  his  wife. 

Grace  seized  her  chance  to  meet  the  worst.  "  Do 
you  think  that  I  have  done  anything  to  encourage  Mr. 
Libby  ? "  she  asked,  looking  bravely  at  her  mother. 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  167 

"  Encourage  him  to  do  what  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Breen, 
without  lifting  her  eyes  from  her  work. 

"  Encouraged  him  to  —  think  I  cared  for  him ;  to 
—  to  be  in  love  with  me." 

Mrs.  Breen  lifted  her  head  now,  and  pushed  her 
spectacles  up  on  her  forehead,  while  she  regarded  her 
daughter  in  silence.  "  Has  he  been  making  love  to 
you  ? " 

"Yes." 

Her  mother  pushed  her  spectacles  down  again, 
and,  turning  the  seam  which  she  had  been  sewing, 
flattened  it  with  her  thumb-nail.  She  made  this 
action  expressive  of  having  foreseen  such  a  result, 
and  of  having  struggled  against  it,  neglected  and 
alone.  "Very  well,  then.  I  hope  you  accepted  him  ? " 
she  asked  quietly. 

"Mother!" 

"  Why  not  ?  You  must  like  him,"  she  continued 
in  the  same  tone.  "  You  have  been  with  him  every 
moment  the  last  week  that  you  have  n't  been  with 
Mrs.  Maynard.  At  least  I've  seen  nothing  of  you, 
except  when  you  came  to  tell  me  you  were  going  to 
walk  or  to  drive  with  him.  You  seem  to  have  asked 
him  to  take  you  most  of  the  time." 

"  How  can  you  say  such  a  thing,  mother  ? "  cried 
the  girl. 


168  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  Did  n't  you  ask  him  to  let  you  go  with  him  this 
afternoon  ?  You  told  me  you  did." 

"  Yes,  I  did.     I  did  it  for  a  purpose." 

"  Ah  !  for  a  purpose,"  said  Mrs.  Breen,  taking  a 
survey  of  the  new  seam,  which  she  pulled  from  her 
knee,  where  one  end  of  it  was  pinned,  towards  her 
chin.  She  left  the  word  to  her  daughter,  who  was 
obliged  to  'take  it. 

"  I  asked  him  to  let  me  go  with  him  because  Louise 
had  tortured  me  about  making  her  go  out  in  his  boat, 
till  I  could  n't  bear  it  any  longer.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  if  I  took  the  same  risk  myself,  it  would  be 
something ;  and  I  hoped  there  would  be  a  storm." 

"I  should  think  you  had  taken  leave  of  your 
senses,"  Mrs.  Breen  observed,  with  her  spectacles 
intent  upon  her  seam.  "  Did  you  think  it  would  be 
any  consolation  to  him  if  you  were  drowned,  or  to 
her?  And  if,"  she  added,  her  conscience  rising  equal 
to  the  vicarious  demand  upon  it,  "  you  hoped  there 
would  be  danger,  had  you  any  right  to  expose  him  to 
it  ?  Even  if  you  chose  to  risk  your  own  life,  you 
had  no  right  to  risk  his."  She  lifted  her  spectacles 
again,  and  turned  their  austere  glitter  upon  her 
daughter. 

"  Yes,  it  all  seems  very  silly  now,"  said  the  girl, 
with  a  hopeless  sigh. 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  169 

"Silly!"  cried  her  mother.  "I'm  glad  you  can 
call  it  silly." 

"  Arid  it  seemed  worse  still  when  he  told  me  that 
he  had  never  believed  it  was  going  to  storm  that  day, 
when  he  took  Louise  out.  His  man  said  it  was,  and 
he  repeated  it  because  he  saw  I  didn't  want  her 
to  go." 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  Mrs.  Breen,  "  if  he  was  willing 
to  deceive  her  then,  he  is  willing  to  deceive  you  now." 

"He  didn't  deceive  her.  He  said  what  he  had 
heard.  And  he  said  it  because  he  —  I  wished  it." 

"  I  call  it  deceiving.  Truth  is  truth.  That  is 
what  I  was  taught;  and  that's  what  I  supposed  I 
had  taught  you." 

"  I  would  trust  Mr.  Libby  in  anything,"  returned 
the  daughter.  "  He  is  perfectly  frank  about  himself. 
He  confessed  that  he  had  done  it  to  please  me.  He 
said  that  nothing  else  could  excuse  it." 

"  Oh,  then  you  have  accepted  him  ! " 

"No,  mother,  T  have  n't.  I  have  refused  him,  and  he 
is  going  away  as  soon  as  Mr.  Maynard  comes."  She 
sat  looking  at  the  window,  and  the  tears  stole  into 
her  eyes,  and  blurred  the  sea  and  sky  together  where 
she  saw  their  meeting  at  the  horizon  line. 

"  Well,"  said  her  mother,  "  then  that  is  the  end  of 
it,  I  presume." 


170  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"Yes,  that's  the  end/'  said  Grace.  "But  —  I  felt 
sorry  for  him,  mother.  Once,"  she  went  on,  "I 
thought  I  had  everything  clear  before  me ;  but  now 
I  seem  only  to  have  made  confusion  of  my  life. 
Yes,"  she  added  drearily,  "  it  was  foolish  and  wicked, 
and  it  was  perfectly  useless,  too.  I  can't  escape  from 
the  consequences  of  what  I  did.  It  makes  no  differ- 
ence what  he  believed  or  any  one  believed.  I  drove 
them  on  to  risk  their  lives  because  I  thought  myself 
so  much  better  than  they;  because  I  was  self- 
righteous  and  suspicious  and  stubborn.  Well,  I  must 
bear  the  penalty:  and  oh,  if  I  could  only  bear  it 
alone  ! "  With  a  long  sigh  she  took  back  the  burden 
which  she  had  been  struggling  to  cast  off,  and  from 
which  for  a  time  she  had  actually  seemed  to  escape. 
She  put  away  her  hat  and  shawl,  and  stood  before 
the  glass,  smoothing  her  hair.  "When  will  it  ever 
end?"  she  moaned  to  the  reflection  there,  rather 
than  to  her  mother,  who  did  not  interrupt  this  spirit- 
ual ordeal.  In  another  age,  such  a  New  England 
girl  would  have  tortured  herself  with  inquisition  as 
to  some  neglected  duty  to  God ;  in  ours,  when  relig- 
ion is  so  largely  humanified,  this  Puritan  soul  could 
only  wreak  itself  in  a  sense  of  irreparable  wrong  to 
her  fellow -creature. 

When  she  went  out  she  met  Miss  Gleason  half- 


DE.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  171 

way  down  the  corridor  to  Mrs.  Maynard's  door.  The 
latter  had  a  book  in  her  hand,  and  came  forward 
whispering.  "  She 's  asleep,"  she  said  very  sibilantly. 
"  I  have  read  her  to  sleep,  and  she 's  sleeping  beauti- 
fully. Have  you  ever  read  it  ? "  she  asked,  with 
hoarse  breaks  from  her  undertone,  as  she  held  up 
one  of  those  cheap  library-editions  of  a  novel  toward 
Grace. 

"  Jane  Eyre  ?  Why,  of  course.  Long  ago." 
"  So  have  I,"  said  Miss  Gleason.  "  But  I  sent  and 
got  it  again,  to  refresh  my  impressions  of  Eochester. 
We  all  think  Dr.  Mulbridge  is  just  like  him.  Eo- 
chester is  my  ideal  character,  —  a  perfect  conception 
of  a  man  :  so  abrupt,  so  rough,  so  savage.  Oh,  I  like 
those  men  !  Don't  you  ? "  she  fluted.  "  Mrs.  May- 
nard  sees  the  resemblance,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us. 
But  I  know !  You  don't  approve  of  them.  I  suppose 
they  can't  be  defended  on  some  grounds ;  but  I  can 
see  how,  even  in  such  a  case  as  this,  the  perfect 
mastery  of  the  man-physician  constitutes  the  highest 
usefulness  of  the  woman-physician.  The  advance- 
ment of  women  must  be  as  women.  'Male  and 
female  created  he  them,'  and  it  is  only  in  remember- 
ing this  that  we  are  helping  Gawd,  whether  as  an 
anthropomorphic  conception  or  a  universally  pervad- 
ing instinct  of  love,  don't  you  think  ? " 


172  DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

With  her  novel  clapped  against  her  breast,  she 
leaned  winningly  over  toward  Grace,  and  fixed  her 
with  her  wide  eyes,  which  had  rings  of  white  round 
the  pupils. 

"  Do  tell  me  ! "  she  ran  on  without  waiting  an  an- 
swer. "  Did  n't  you  go  with  Mr.  Libby  because  you 
hoped  it  might  storm,  and  wished  to  take  the  same 
risk  as  Mrs.  Maynard  ?  I  told  Mrs.  Alger  you  did  ! " 

Grace  flushed  guiltily,  and  Miss  Gleason  cowered 
a  little,  perhaps  interpreting  the  color  as  resentment. 
"  I  should  consider  that  a  very  silly  motive,"  she  said, 
helplessly  ashamed  that  she  was  leaving  the  weight 
of  the  blow  upon  Miss  Gleason's  shoulders  instead  of 
her  own. 

"Of  course,"  said  Miss  Gleason  enthusiastically, 
"  you  can't  confess  it.  But  I  know  you  are  capable 
of  such  a  thing  —  of  anything  heroic !  Do  forgive 
me,"  she  said,  seizing  Grace's  hand.  She  held  it 
a  moment,  gazing  with  a  devouring  fondness  into  her 
face,  which  she  stooped  a  little  sidewise  to  peer  up 
into.  Then  she  quickly  dropped  her  hand,  and, 
whirling  away,  glided  slimly  out  of  the  corridor. 

Grace  softly  opened  Mrs.  Maynard's  door,  and  the 
sick  woman  opened  her  eyes.  "  I  was  n't  asleep,"  she 
said  hoarsely,  "  but  I  had  to  pretend  to  be,  or  that 
woman  would  have  killed  me." 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  173 

Grace  went  to  her  and  felt  her  hands  and  her 
flushed  forehead. 

"  I  am  worse  this  evening,"  said  Mrs.  May- 
nard. 

"  Oh,  no,"  sighed  the  girl,  dropping  into  a  chair  at 
the  bedside,  with  her  eyes  fixed  in  a  sort  of  fascina- 
tion on  the  lurid  face  of  the  sick  woman. 

"  After  getting  me  here,"  continued  Mrs.  Maynard, 
in  the  same  low,  hoarse  murmur,  "you  might  at  least 
stay  with  me  a  little.  What  kept  you  so  long  ? " 

"  The  wind  fell.     We  were  becalmed." 

"  We  were  not  becalmed  the  day  /  went  out  with 
Mr.  Libby.  But  perhaps  nobody  forced  you  to 

go." 

Having  launched  this  dart,  she  closed  her  eyes 
again  with  something  more  like  content  than  she  had 
yet  shown :  it  had  an  aim  of  which  she  could  always 
be  sure. 

"We  have  heard  from  Mr.  Maynard,"  said  Grace 
humbly.  "There  was  a  despatch  waiting  for  Mr. 
Libby  at  Leyden.  He  is  on  his  way." 

Mrs.  Maynard  betrayed  no  immediate  effect  of  this 
other  than  to  say,  "  He  had  better  hurry,"  and  did 
not  open  her  eyes. 

Grace  went  about  the  room  with  a  leaden  weight 
in  every  fibre,  putting  the  place  in  order,  and  Mrs. 


174  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

Maynard  did  not  speak  again  till  she  had  finished. 
Then  she  said,  "I  want  you  to  tell  ine  just  how  bad 
Dr.  Mulbridge  thinks  I  am." 

"He  has  never  expressed  any  anxiety,"  Grace 
began,  with  her  inaptness  at  evasion. 

"  Of  course  he  has  n't,"  murmured  the  sick  woman. 
"  He  is  n't  a  fool !  What  does  he  say  ? " 

This  passed  the  sufferance  even  of  remorse.  "  He 
siys  you  must  n't  talk,"  the  girl  flashed  out.  "  And 
if  you  insist  upon  doing  so,  I  will  leave  you,  and  send 
some  one  else  to  take  care  of  you." 

"Very  well,  then.  I  know  what  that  means. 
When  a  doctor  tells  you  not  to  talk,  it 's  because  he 
knows  he  can't  do  you  any  good.  As  soon  as  George 
Maynard  gets  here  I  will  have  some  one  that  can  cure 
me,  or  I  will  know  the  reason  why."  The  conception 
of  her  husband  as  a  champion  seemed  to  commend  him 
to  her  in  novel  degree.  She  shed  some  tears,  and 
after  a  little  reflection  she  asked,  "  How  soon  will  he 
be  here  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Grace.  "  He  seems  to  have 
started  yesterday  morning." 

"  He  can  be  here  by  day  after  to-morrow,"  Mrs. 
Maynard  computed.  "There  will  be  some  one  to 
look  after  poor  little  Bella  then,"  she  added,  as  if, 
during  her  sickness,  Bella  must  have  been  wholly 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  175 

neglected.     "  Don't  let  the  child  be  all  dirt  when  her 

o 

father  comes." 

"  Mother  will  look  after  Bella,"  Grace  replied,  too 
meek  again  to  resent  the  implication.  After  a  pause, 
"  Oh,  Louise,"  she  added  beseechingly,  "  I  've  suffered 
so  much  from  my  own  wrong-headedness  and  ob- 
stinacy that  I  could  n't  bear  to  see  you  taking  the 
same  risk,  and  I'm  so  glad  that  you  are  going  to 
meet  your  husband  in  the  right  spirit." 

"  What  right  spirit  ? "  croaked  Mrs.  Maynard. 

"  The  wish  to  please  him,  to  "  — 

"  I  don't  choose  to  have  him  say  that  his  child  dis- 
graces him,"  replied  Mrs.  Maynard,  in  the  low,  husky, 
monotonous  murmur  in  which  she  was  obliged  to 
utter  everything. 

"  But,  dear  Louise  ! "  cried  the  other,  "  you  choose 
something  else  too,  don't  you  ?  You  wish  to  meet  him 
as  if  no  unkindness  had  parted  you,  and  as  if  you 
were  to  be  always  together  after  this  ?  I  hope  you 
do !  Then  I  should  feel  that  all  this  suffering  and 
trouble  was  a  mercy." 

"  Other  people's  misery  is  always  a  mercy  to  them," 
hoarsely  suggested  Mrs.  Maynard. 

"Yes,  I  know  that,"  Grace  submitted,  with  meek 
conviction.  "But,  Louise,"  she  pleaded,  "you  will 
make  up  with  your  husband,  won't  you  ?  Whatever 


176  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

lie  has  done,  that  will  surely  be  best.  I  know  that 
you  love  him,  and  that  he  must  love  you,  yet.  It 's 
the  only  way.  If  you  were  finally  separated  from 
him,  and  you  and  he  could  be  happy  apart,  what 
would  become  of  that  poor  child  ?  Who  will  take  a 
father's  place  with  her  ?  That 's  the  worst  about  it. 
Oh,  Louise,  I  feel  so  badly  for  you  —  for  what  you 
have  lost,  and  may  lose.  Marriage  must  change 
people  so  that  unless  they  live  to  each  other,  their 
lives  will  be  maimed  and  useless.  It  ought  to  be  so 
much  easier  to  forgive  any  wrong  your  husband  does 
you  than  to  punish  it;  for  that  perpetuates  the 
wrong,  and  forgiveness  ends  it,  and  it 's  the  only  thing 
that  can  end  a  wrong.  I  am  sure  that  your  husband 
will  be  ready  to  do  or  say  anything  you  wish ;  but  if 
he  shouldn't,  Louise,  you  will  receive  him  forgiv- 
ingly, and  make  the  first  advance  ?  It 's  a  woman's 
right  to  make  the  advances  in  forgiving." 

Mrs.  Maynard  lay  with  her  hands  stretched  at  her 
side  under  the  covering,  and  only  her  face  visible 
above  it.  She  now  turned  her  head  a  little,  so  as  to 
pierce  the  earnest  speaker  with  a  gleam  from  her  dull 
eye.  "  Have  you  accepted  Walter  Libby  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  Louise  ! "  cried  Grace,  with  a  blush  that  burned 
like  fire. 


DR.    BREEN'S    PRACTICE.  177 

"  That 's  the  way  I  used  to  talk  when  I  was  first 
engaged.  Wait  till  you  're  married  a  while.  I  want 
Bella  to  have  on  her  pique,  and  her  pink  sash,  —  nob 
the  cherry  one.  I  should  think  you  would  have 
studied  to  be  a  minister  instead  of  a  doctor.  But 
you  need  ri't  preach  to  rne ;  I  shall  know  how  to  be- 
have to  George  Maynard  when  he  conies,  —  if  he 
ever  does  come.  And  now  I  should  think  you  had 
made  me  talk  enough  ! " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Grace,  recalled  to  her  more  im- 
mediate duty  in  alarm. 

All  her  helpfulness  was  soon  to  be  needed.  The 
disease,  which  had  lingered  more  than  usual  in  the 
early  stages,  suddenly  approached  a  crisis.  That 
night  Mrs.  Maynard  grew  so  much  worse  that  Grace 
sent  Libby  at  daybreak  for  Dr.  Mulbridge ;  and  the 
young  man,  after  leading  out  his  own  mare  to  see  if 
her  lameness  had  abated,  ruefully  put  her  back  in  the 
stable,  and  set  off  to  Corbitant  with  the  splay-foot  at 
a  rate  of  speed  unparalleled,  probably,  in  the  animal's 
recollection  of  a  long  and  useful  life.  In  the  two 
anxious  days  that  followed,  Libby  and  Grace  were 
associated  in  the  freedom  of  a  common  interest  out- 
side of  themselves ;  she  went  to  him  for  help  and 
suggestion,  and  he  gave  them  as  if  nothing  had  passed 
to  restrict  or  embarrass  their  relations.  There  was 

12 


178  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

that,  in  fact,  in  the  awe  of  the  time  and  an  involun- 
tary disoccupation  of  hers  that  threw  them  together 
even  more  constantly  than  before.  Dr.  Mulbridge 
remained  with  his  patient  well  into  the  forenoon ;  in 
the  afternoon  he  came  again,  and  that  night  he  did 
not  go  away.  He  superseded  Grace  as  a  nurse  no  less 
completely  than  he  had  displaced  her  as  a  physician. 
He  let  her  relieve  him  when  he  flung  himself  down  for 
a  few  minutes'  sleep,  or  when  he  went  out  for  the  huge 
meals  which  he  devoured,  preferring  the  unwholesome 
things  with  a  depravity  shocking  to  the  tender  phy- 
sical consciences  of  the  ladies  who  looked  on ;  but  when 
he  returned  to  his  charge,  he  showed  himself  jealous 
of  all  that  Grace  had  done  involving  the  exercise  of 
more  than  a  servile  discretion.  When  she  asked  him 
once  if  there  were  nothing  else  that  she  could  do,  he 
said,  "Yes,  keep  those  women  and  children  quiet," 
in  a  tone  that  classed  her  with  both.  She  longed  to 
ask  him  what  he  thought  of  Mrs.  Maynard's  condi- 
tion; but  she  had  not  the  courage  to  invoke  the 
intelligence  that  ignored  her  so  completely,  and  she 
struggled  in  silence  with  such  disheartening  auguries 
as  her  theoretical  science  enabled  her  to  make. 

The  next  day  was  a  Sunday,  and  the  Sabbath  hush 
which  always  hung  over  Jocelyn's  was  intensified  to 
the  sense  of  those  who  ached  between  hope  and  fear 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  179 

for  the  life  that  seemed  to  waver  and  flicker  in  that 
still  air.  Dr.  Mulbridge  watched  beside  his  patient, 
noting  every  change  with  a  wary  intelligence  which 
no  fact  escaped  and  no  anxiety  clouded  ;  alert,  gentle, 
prompt ;  suffering  no  question,  and  absolutely  silent  as 
to  all  impressions.  He  allowed  Grace  to  remain  with 
him  when  she  liked,  and  let  her  do  his  bidding  in 
minor  matters ;  but  when  from  time  to  time  she 
escaped  from  the  intolerable  tension  in  which  his  ret- 
icence and  her  own  fear  held  her,  he  did  not  seem  to 
see  whether  she  went  or  came.  Toward  nightfall  she 
met  him  coming  out  of  Mrs.  Maynard's  room,  as  she 
drew  near  in  the  narrow  corridor. 

"  Where  is  your  friend  —  the  young  man  —  the  one 
who  smokes  ? "  he  asked,  as  if  nothing  unusual  had 
occupied  him.  "  I  want  him  to  give  me  a  cigar.  " 

"  Dr.  Mulbridge, "  she  said,  "  I  will  not  bear  this 
any  longer.  I  must  know  the  worst  —  you  have  no 
right  to  treat  me  in  this  way.  Tell  me  now  —  tell  me 
instantly  :  will  she  live  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  an  imaginable  apprehension 
of  hysterics,  but  as  she  continued  firm,  and  placed 
herself  resolutely  in  his  way,  he  relaxed  his  scrutiny, 
and  said,  with  a  smile,  "Oh,  I  think  so.  What  made 
you  think  she  would  n't  ?  " 

She  drew  herself  aside,  and  made  way  for  hirn. 


180  DR.   BREED'S   PRACTICE. 

"  Go  ! "  she  cried.  She  would  have  said  more,  but 
her  indignation  choked  her. 

He  did  not  pass  at  once,  and  he  did  not  seem, 
troubled  at  her  anger.  "  Dr.  Breen, "  he  said,  "  I 
saw  a  good  deal  of  pneumonia  in  the  army,  and  I 
don't  remember  a  single  case  that  was  saved  by  the 
anxiety  of  the  surgeon.  " 

He  went  now,  as  people  do  when  they  fancy  them- 
selves to  have  made  a  good  point ;  and  she  heard  him 
asking  Barlow  for  Libby,  outside,  and  then  walking- 
over  the  gravel  toward  the  stable.  At  that  moment 
she  doubted  and  hated  him  so  much  that  she  would 
have  been  glad  to  keep  Libby  from  talking  or  even 
smoking  with  him.  But  she  relented  a  little  toward 
him  afterwards,  when  he  returned  and  resumed  the 
charge  of  his  patient  with  the  gentle,  vigilant  cheer- 
fulness which  she  had  admired  in  him  from  the  first, 
omitting  no  care  and  betraying  none.  He  appeared 
to  take  it  for  granted  that  Grace  saw  an  improvement, 
but  he  recognized  it  by  nothing  explicit  till  he  rose 
and  said,  "  I  think  I  will  leave  Mrs.  Maynard  with 
you  to-night,  Dr.  Breen.  " 

The  sick  woman's  eyes  turned  to  him  imploringly 
from  her  pillow,  and  Grace  spoke  the  terror  of  both 
when  she  faltered  in  return,  "  Are  you  —  you  are  not 
going  home  ? " 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  181 

"  I  shall  sleep  in  the  house  "  — 

"  Oh,  thank  you  ! "  she  cried  fervently. 

"And  you  can  call  me  if  you  wish.  But  there 
won't  be  any  occasion.  Mrs.  Maynard  is  very  much 
better. "  He  waited  to  give,  in  a  sort  of  absent-mind- 
ed way,  certain  directions.  Then  he  went  out,  and 
Grace  sank  back  into  the  chair  from  which  she  had 
started  at  his  rising,  and  wept  long  and  silently  with 
a  hidden  face.  When  she  took  away  her  hands  and 
dried  her  tears,  she  saw  Mrs.  Maynard  beckoning  to 
her.  She  went  to  the  bedside. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  ? "  she  asked  tenderly. 

"  Stoop  down, "  whispered  the  other ;  and  as  Grace 
bowed  her  ear  Mrs.  Maynard  touched  her  cheek  with 
her  dry  lips.  In  this  kiss  doubtless  she  forgave  the 
wrong  which  she  had  hoarded  in  her  heart,  and  there 
perverted  into  a  deadly  injury.  But  they  both  knew 
upon  what  terms  the  pardon  was  accorded,  and  that 
if  Mrs.  Maynard  had  died,  she  would  have  died  hold- 
ing Grace  answerable  for  her  undoing. 


182  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE, 


IX. 


IN  the  morning  Dr.  Mulbridge  drove  back  to  Cor- 
bitant,  and  in  the  evening  Libby  came  over  from  New 
Leyden  with  Maynard,  in  a  hired  wagon.  He  was  a 
day  later  than  his  wife  had  computed,  but  as  she 
appeared  to  have  reflected,  she  had  left  the  interven- 
ing Sunday  out  of  her  calculation ;  this  was  one  of 
the  few  things  she  taxed  herself  to  say.  For  the 
rest,  she  seemed  to  be  hoarding  her  strength  against 
his  coming. 

Grace  met  him  at  a  little  distance  from  the  house, 
whither  she  had  walked  with  Bella,  for  a  breath  of 
the  fresh  air  after  her  long  day  in  the  sick-room,  and 
did  not  find  him  the  boisterous  and  jovial  Hoosier 
she  had  imagined  him.  It  was,  in  fact,  hardly  the 
moment  for  the  expression  of  Western  humor.  He 
arrived  a  sleep-broken,  travel-creased  figure,  with 
more  than  the  Western  man's  usual  indifference  to 
dress ;  with  sad,  dull  eyes,  and  an  untrimmed  beard 
that  hung  in  points  arid  tags,  and  thinly  hid  the  cor- 
ners of  a  large  mouth.  He  took  her  hand  laxly  in 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  183 

his,  and  bowing  over  her  from  his  lank  height  listened 
to  her  report  of  his  wife's  state,  while  he  held  his  lit- 
tle girl  on  his  left  arm,  and  the  child  fondly  pressed 
her  cheek  against  his  bearded  face,  to  which  he  had 
quietly  lifted  her  as  soon  as  he  alighted  from  Libby's 
buggy. 

Libby  introduced  Grace  as  Dr.  Breen,  and  drove 
on,  and  Maynard  gave  her  the  title  whenever  he  ad- 
dressed her,  with  a  perfect  effect  of  single-minded- 
ness  in  his  gravity,  as  if  it  were  an  every-day  thing 
with  him  to  meet  young  ladies  who  were  physicians. 
He  had  a  certain  neighborly  manner  of  having  known 
her  a  long  time,  and  of  being  on  good  terms  with  her ; 
and  somewhere  there  resided  in  his  loosely  knit  organ- 
ism a  powerful  energy.  She  had  almost  to  run  in 
keeping  at  his  side,  as  he  walked  on  to  the  house, 
carrying  his  little  girl  on  his  arm,  and  glancing  about 
him ;  and  she  was  not  sure  at  last  that  she  had  suc- 
ceeded in  making  him  understand  how  serious  the  case 
had  been. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  let  you  go  in," 
she  said,  "  without  preparing  her." 

"  She 's  been  expecting  me,  has  n't  she  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  but"  — 

"  And  she 's  awake  ?  " 

"Yes"  — 


184  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  Then  I  '11  just  go  in  and  prepare  her  myself.  I  'm 
a  pretty  good  hand  at  preparing  people  to  meet  me. 
You  've  a  beautiful  location  here,  Dr.  Breen ;  and 
your  town  has  a  chance  to  grow.  I  like  to  see  a  town 
have  some  chance,"  he  added,  with  a  sadness  past 
tears  in  his  melancholy  eyes.  "  Bella  can  show  me 
the  way  to  the  room,  I  reckon,"  he  said,  setting  the 
little  one  down  on  the  piazza,  and  following  her  in- 
doors; and  when  Grace  ventured,  later,  to  knock 
at  the  door,  Maynard's  voice  bade  her  come  in. 

He  sat  beside  his  wife's  pillow,  with  her  hand  in 
his  left ;  on  his  right  arm  perched  the  little  girl,  and 
rested  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  They  did  not  seem 
to  have  been  talking,  and  they  did  not  move  when 
Grace  entered  the  room.  But,  apparently,  Mrs.  May- 
nard  had  known  how  to  behave  to  George  Maynard, 
and  peace  was  visibly  between  them. 

"  Now,  you  tell  me  about  the  medicines,  Dr.  Breen, 
and  then  you  go  and  get  some  rest,"  said  Maynard, 
in  his  mild,  soothing  voice.  "  I  used  to  understand 
Mrs.  Maynard's  ways  pretty  well,  and  I  can  take 
care  of  her.  Libby  told  me  all  about  you  and  your 
doings,  and  I  know  you  must  feel  as  pale  as  you 
look." 

"  But  you  can't  have  had  any  sleep  on  the  way," 
Grace  began. 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  185 

"  Sleep  ? "  Maynard  repeated,  looking  wanly  at  her. 
"  /  never  sleep.  I  'd  as  soon  think  of  digesting." 

After  she  had  given  him  the  needed  instructions 
he  rose  from  the  rocking-chair  in  which  he  had  been 
softly  swinging  to  and  fro,  and  followed  her  out  into 
the  corridor,  caressing  with  his  large  hand  the  child 
that  lay  on  his  shoulder.  "  Of  course,"  she  said, 
"Mrs.  Maynard  is  still  very  sick,  and  needs  the 
greatest  care  and  attention." 

"  Yes,  I  understand  that.  But  I  reckon  it  will 
come  out  all  right  in  the  end,"  he  said,  with  the 
optimistic  fatalism  which  is  the  real  religion  of  our 
orientalizing  West.  "  Good-night,  doctor." 

She  went  away,  feeling  suddenly  alone  in  this  ex- 
clusion from  the  cares  that  had  absorbed  her.  There 
was  no  one  on  the  piazza,  which  the  moonlight  printed 
with  the  shadows  of  the  posts  and  the  fanciful  jig- 
saw work  of  the  arches  between  them.  She  heard  a 
step  on  the  sandy  walk  round  the  corner,  and  waited 
wistfully. 

It  was  Barlow  who  came  in  sight,  as  she  knew  at 
once,  but  she  asked,  "  Mr.  Barlow  ?  " 

"  Yes'm,"  said  Barlow.    "  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"Nothing.  I  thought  it  might  be  Mr.  Libby  at 
first.  Do  you  know  where  he  is  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  know  where  he  aint"  said  Barlow ;  and 


18G  DR.   BKEEN'S   PRACTICE. 

having  ineffectually  waited  to  be  questioned  further, 
he  added,  "  He  ain't  here,  for  one  place.  He 's  gone 
back  to  Leyden.  He  had  to  take  that  horse  back." 

"Oh  ! "  she  said. 

"N'  I  guess  he's  goin'  to  stay." 

"To  stay?  Where?" 

"  Well,  there  you  Ve  got  me  again.  All  I  know  is 
I  Ve  got  to  drive  that  mare  of  his'n  over  to-morrow, 
if  I  can  git  off,  and  next  day  if  I  can't.  Did  n't  you 
know  he  was  goin'  ?  "  asked  Barlow,  willing  to  recom- 
pense himself  for  the  information  he  had  given. 
"  Well ! "  he  added  sympathetically,  at  a  little  hesita- 
tion of  hers. 

Then  she  said,  "  I  knew  he  must  go.  Good-night, 
Mr.  Barlow,"  and  went  indoors.  She  remembered 
that  he  had  said  he  would  go  as  soon  as  Maynard 
came,  and  that  she  had  consented  that  this  would  be 
best.  But  his  going  now  seemed  abrupt,  though  she 
approved  it.  She  thought  that  she  had  something 
more  to  say  to  him,  which  might  console  him  or 
reconcile  him ;  she  could  not  think  what  this  was, 
but  it  left  an  indefinite  longing,  an  unsatisfied  pur- 
pose in  her  heart ;  and  there  was  somewhere  a  trem- 
ulous sense  of  support  withdrawn.  Perhaps  this  was 
a  mechanical  effect  of  the  cessation  of  her  anxiety 
for  Mrs.  Maynard,  which  had  been  a  support  as  well 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  187 

as  a  burden.  The  house  was  strangely  quiet,  as  if 
some  great  noise  had  just  been  hushed,  and  it  seemed 
empty.  She  felt  timid  in  her  room,  but  she  dreaded 
the  next  day  more  than  the  dark.  Her  life  was 
changed,  and  the  future,  which  she  had  once  planned 
so  clearly,  and  had  felt  so  strong  to  encounter,  had 
fallen  to  a  ruin,  in  which  she  vainly  endeavored  to 
find  some  clew  or  motive  of  the  past.  She  felt  re- 
manded to  the  conditions  of  the  girlhood  that  she 
fancied  she  had  altogether  outlived  ;  she  turned  her 
face  upon  her  pillow  in  a  grief  of  bewildered  aspira- 
tion and  broken  pride,  and  shed  tears  scarcely  predi- 
cable  of  a  doctor  of  medicine. 

But  there  is  no  lapse  or  aberration  of  character 
which  can  be  half  so  surprising  to  others  as  it  is  to 
one's  self.  She  had  resented  Libby's  treating  her 
upon  a  theory,  but  she  treated  herself  upon  a  theory, 
and  we  all  treat  ourselves  upon  a  theory.  We  pro- 
ceed each  of  us  upon  the  theory  that  he  is  very  brave, 
or  generous,  or  gentle,  or  liberal,  or  truthful,  or  loyal, 
or  just.  We  may  have  the  defects  of  our  virtues, 
but  nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  we  have  our 
virtues,  till  there  comes  a  fatal  juncture,  not  at  all 
like  the  juncture  in  which  we  had  often  imagined 
ourselves  triumphing  against  temptation.  It  passes, 
and  the  hero  finds,  to  his  dismay  and  horror,  that  he 


188  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

has  run  away ;  the  generous  man  has  been  niggard ; 
the  gentleman  has  behaved  like  a  ruffian,  and  the  lib- 
eral like  a  bigot ;  the  champion  of  truth  has  foolishly 
and  vainly  lied ;  the  steadfast  friend  has  betrayed  his 
neighbor,  the  just  person  has  oppressed  him.  This  is 
the  fruitful  moment,  apparently  so  sterile,  in  which 
character  may  spring  and  flower  anew  ;  but  the  mood 
of  abject  humility  in  which  the  theorist  of  his  own 
character  is  plunged  and  struggles  for  his  lost  self-re- 
spect is  full  of  deceit  for  others.  It  cannot  last :  it  may 
end  in  disowning  and  retrieving  the  error,  or  it  may 
end  in  justifying  it,  and  building  it  into  the  recon- 
structed character,  as  something  upon  the  whole  un- 
expectedly fine ;  but  it  must  end,  for  after  all  it  is 
only  a  mood.  In  such  a  mood,  in  the  anguish  of  her 
disappointment  at  herself,  a  woman  clings  to  whatever 
support  offers,  and  it  is  at  his  own  risk  that  the  man 
who  chances  to  be  this  support  accepts  the  weight  with 
which  she  casts  herself  upon  him  as  the  measure  of 
her  dependence,  though  he  may  make  himself  neces- 
sary to  her,  if  he  has  the  grace  or  strength  to  do  it. 

Without  being  able  to  understand  fully  the  causes 
of  the  dejection  in  which  this  girl  seemed  to  appeal 
to  him,  Mulbridge  might  well  have  believed  himself 
the  man  to  turn  it  in  his  favor.  If  he  did  not  sym- 
pathize with  her  distress,  or  even  clearly  divine  it, 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  189 

still  his  bold  generalizations,  he  found,  always  had 
their  effect  with  women,  whose  natures  are  often  to 
themselves  such  unknown  territory  that  a  man  who 
assumes  to  know  them  has  gone  far  to  master  them. 
He  saw  that  a  rude  moral  force  alone  seemed  to  have 
a  charm  with  his  lady  patients,  —  women  who  had 
been  bred  to  ease  and  wealth,  and  who  had  cultivated, 
if  not  very  disciplined,  minds.  Their  intellectual  dis- 
sipation had  apparently  made  them  a  different  race 
from  the  simpler-hearted  womenkind  of  his  neighbors, 
apt  to  judge  men  in  a  sharp  ignorance  of  what  is 
fascinating  in  heroes ;  and  it  would  not  be  strange  if 
he  included  Grace  in  the  sort  of  contemptuous 
amusement  with  which  he  regarded  these  flatteringly 
dependent  and  submissive  invalids.  He  at  least  did 
not  conceive  of  her  as  she  conceived  of  herself;  but 
this  may  be  impossible  to  any  man  with  regard  to 
any  woman. 

With  his  experience  of  other  women's  explicit  and 
even  eager  obedience,  the  resistance  which  he  had 
at  first  encountered  in  Grace  gave  zest  to  her  final 
submission.  Since  he  had  demolished  the  position 
she  had  attempted  to  hold  against  him,  he  liked  her 
for  having  imagined  she  could  hold  it ;  and  she  had 
continued  to  pique  and  interest  him.  He  relished  all 
her  scruples  and  misgivings,  and  the  remorse  she  had 


190  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

tried  to  confide  to  him ;  and  if  bis  enjoyment  of 
these  foibles  of  hers  took  too  little  account  of  her 
pain,  it  was  never  his  characteristic  to  be  tender  of 
people  in  good  health.  He  was,  indeed,  as  •  alien  to 
her  Puritan  spirit  as  if  he  had  been  born  in  Naples 
instead  of  Corbitant.  He  came  of  one  of  those  fami- 
lies which  one  finds  in  nearly  every  New  England 
community,  as  thoroughly  New  England  in  race  as 
the  rest,  but  flourishing  in  a  hardy  scepticism  and 
contempt  of  the  general  sense.  Whatever  relation 
such  people  held  to  the  old  Puritan  commonwealth 
when  Puritanism  was  absolute,  they  must  later  have 
taken  an  active  part  in  its  disintegration,  and  were 
probably  always  a  destructive  force  at  its  heart. 

Mulbridge's  grandfather  was  one  of  the  last  cap- 
tains who  sailed  a  slaver  from  Corbitant.  When  this 
commerce  became  precarious,  he  retired  from  the  seas, 
took  a  young  wife  in  second  marriage,  and  passed  his 
declining  days  in  robust  inebriety.  He  lived  to  ra>t 
a  dying  vote  for  General  Jackson,  and  his  son,  the 
first  Dr.  Mulbridge,  survived  to  illustrate  the  magna- 
nimity of  his  fellow-townsmen  during  the  first  year  of 
the  civil  war,  as  a  tolerated  Copperhead.  Then  lie 
died,  and  his  son,  who  was  in  the  West,  looking  up  a 
location  for  practice,  was  known  to  have  gone  out  as 
surgeon  with  one  of  the  regiments  there.  It  was 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  191 

not  supposed  that  he  went  from  patriotism ;  but  when 
lie  came  back,  a  year  before  the  end  of  the  struggle, 
and  settled  in  his  native  place,  his  service  in  the  army 
was  accepted  among  his  old  neighbors  as  evidence  of  a 
better  disposition  of  some  sort  than  had  hitherto  be'en 
attributable  to  any  of  his  name. 

In  fact,  the  lazy,  good-natured  boy,  whom  they 
chiefly  remembered  before  his  college  days,  had  al- 
ways been  well  enough  liked  among  those  who  had 
since  grown  to  be  first  mates  and  ship  captains  in  the 
little  port  where  he  was  born  and  grew  up.  They 
had  now  all  retired  from  the  sea,  and,  having  survived 
its  manifold  perils,  were  patiently  waiting  to  be 
drowned  in  sail-boats  on  the  bay.  They  were  of  the 
second  generation  of  ships'  captains  still  living  in  Cor- 
bitant ;  but  they  would  be  the  last.  The  commerce 
of  the  little  port  had  changed  into  the  whaling  trade 
in  their  time  ;  this  had  ceased  in  turn,  and  the  wharves 
had  rotted  away.  Dr.  Mulbridge  found  little  practice 
among  them ;  while  attending  their  appointed  fate, 
they  were  so  thoroughly  salted  against  decay  as  to 
preserve  even  their  families.  But  he  gradually  gath- 
ered into  his  hands,  from  the  clairvoyant  and  the  In- 
dian doctor,  the  business  which  they  had  shared 
between  them  since  his  father's  death.  There  was 
here  and  there  a  tragical  case  of  consumption  among 


192  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

the  farming  families  along  the  coast,  and  now  and 
then  a  frightful  accident  among  the  fishermen ;  the 
spring  and  autumn  brought  their  typhoid ;  the  city 
people  who  came  down  to  the  neighboring  hotels  were 
mostly  sick,  or  fell  sick ;  and  with  the  small  property 
his  father  had  left,  he  and  his  mother  contrived  to 
live. 

They  dwelt  very  harmoniously  together;  for  his 
mother,  who  had  passed  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury in  strong  resistance  to  her  husband's  will,  had 
succumbed,  as  not  uncommonly  happens  with  such 
women,  to  the  authority  of  her  son,  whom  she  had  no 
particular  pleasure  or  advantage  in  thwarting.  In  the 
phrase  and  belief  of  his  neighbors,  he  took  after  her, 
rather  than  his  father ;  but  there  was  something  iron- 
ical and  baffling  in  him,  which  the  local  experts  could 
not  trace  to  either  the  Mulbridges  or  the  Gardiners. 
They  had  a  quiet,  indifferent  faith  in  his  ability  to 
make  himself  a  position  and  name  anywhere ;  but 
they  were  not  surprised  that  he  had  come  back  to  live 
in  Corbitant,  which  was  so  manifestly  the  best  place  in 
the  world,  and  which,  if  somewhat  lacking  in  oppor- 
tunity, was  ample  in  the  leisure  they  believed  more 
congenial  to  him  than  success.  Some  of  his  lady  pa- 
tients at  the  hotels,  who  felt  at  times  that  they  could 
not  live  without  him,  would  h.ive  carried  him  back  to 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  193 

the,  city  with  them  by  a  gentle  violence;  but  there 
was  nothing  in  anything  he  said  or  did  that  betrayed 
ambition  on  his  part.  He  Ifked  to  hear  them  talk,  es- 
pecially of  their  ideas  of  progress,  as  they  called  them, 
at  which,  with  the  ready  adaptability  of  their  sex,  they 
joined  him  in  laughing  when  they  found  that  he 
could  not  take  them  seriously.  The  social,  the  emo- 
tional expression  of  the  new  scientific  civilization 
struck  him  as  droll,  particularly  in  respect  to  the 
emancipation  of  women  ;  and  he  sometimes  gave  these 
ladies  the  impression  that  he  did  not  value  woman's 
intellect  at  its  true  worth.  He  was  far  from  light 
treatment  of  them,  he  was  considerate  of  the  distances 
that  should  be  guarded ;  but  he  conveyed  the  sense 
of  his  scepticism  as  to  their  fitness  for  some  things  to 
which  the  boldest  of  them  aspired. 

His  mother  would  have  been  willing  to  have  him  go 
to  the  city  if  he  wished,  but  she  was  too  ignorant  of 
the  world  outside  of  Corbitant  to  guess  at  his  possi- 
bilities in  it,  and  such  people  as  she  had  seen  from  it 
had  not  pleased  her  with  it.  Those  summer-boarding 
lady  patients  who  came  to  see  him  were  sometimes 
suffered  to  wait  with  her  till  he  came  in,  and  they 
used  to  tell  her  how  happy  she  must  be  to  keep  such 
a  son  with  her,  and  twittered  their  patronage  of  her 
and  her  nice  old-fashioned  parlor,  and  their  praises  of 

13 


194  DR.   BREEX'S   PRACTICE. 

his  skill  in  such  wise  against  her  echoless  silence  that 
she  conceived  a  strong  repugnance  for  all  their  tribe, 
in  which  she  naturally  included  Grace  when  she  ap- 
peared. She  had  decided  the  girl  to  be  particularly 
forthputting,  from  something  prompt  and  self-reliant 
in  her  manner  that  day ;  and  she  viewed  with  tacit  dis- 
gust her  son's  toleration  of  a  handsome  young  woman 
who  had  taken  up  a  man's  profession.  They  were  not 
people  who  gossiped  together,  or  confided  in  each 
other,  and  she  would  have  known  nothing  and  asked 
nothing  from  him  about  her,  further  than  she  had 
seen  for  herself.  But  Barlow  had  folks,  as  he  called 
them,  at  Corbitant ;  and  without  her  own  connivance 
she  had  heard  from  them  of  all  that  was  passing  at 
Jocelyn's. 

It  was  her  fashion  to  approach  any  subject  upon 
which  she  wished  her  son  to  talk  as  if  they  liad 
already  talked  of  it,  and  he  accepted  this  convention 
with  a  perfect  understanding  that  she  thus  expressed 
at  once  her  deference  to  him  and  her  resolution  to 
speak  whether  he  liked  it  or  not.  She  had  not  asked 
him  about  Mrs.  Maynard's  sickness,  or  shown  any 
interest  in  it ;  but  after  she  learned  from  the  Barlows 
that  she  was  no  longer  in  danger,  she  said  to  her  son 
one  morning,  before  he  drove  away  upon  his  daily 
visit,  "  Is  her  nusband  going  to  stay  with  her,  or  is  he 
going  back  ? " 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  195 

"  I  don't  know,  really,"  he  answered,  glancing  at  her 
where  she  sat  erect  across  the  table  from  him,  with  her 
hand  on  the  lid  of  the  coffee-pot,  and  her  eyes  down- 
cast ;  it  was  the  face  of  silent  determination  not  to  be 
put  off,  which  he  knew.  "  I  don't  suppose  you  care, 
mother,"  he  added  pleasantly. 

"She's  nothing  to  me,"  she  assented.  "What's 
that  friend  of  hers  going  to  do  ? " 

"  Which  friend  ? " 

"  You  know.     The  one  that  came  after  you." 

"  Oh  !  Dr.  Breen.  Yes.  What  did  you  think  of 
her?" 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  call  her  doctor." 

"Oh,  I  do  it  out  of  politeness.  Besides,  she  is 
one  sort  of  doctor.  Little  pills,"  he  added,  with  an 
enjoyment  of  his  mother's  grimness  on  this  point. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  a  daughter  of  mine  pretend- 
ing to  be  a  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Mulbridge. 

"  Thfen  you  would  n't  like  Dr.  Breen  for  a  daugh- 
ter," returned  her  son,  in  the  same  tone  as  before. 

"  She  would  n't  like  me  for  a  mother,"  Mrs.  Mul- 
bridge retorted. 

Her  son  laughed,  and  helped  himself  to  more  baked 
beans  and  a  fresh  slice  of  rye-and-indian.  He  had 
the  homely  tastes  and  the  strong  digestion  of  the 
people  from  whom  he  sprung;  and  he  handed  his 


196  DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

cup  to  be  filled  with  his  mother's  strong  coffee  in 
easy  defiance  of  consequences.  As  he  took  it  back 
from  her  he  said,  "  I  should  like  to  see  you  and  Mrs. 
Breen  together.  You  would  make  a  strong  team." 
He  buttered  his  bread,  with  another  laugh  in  appre- 
ciation of  his  conceit.  "  If  you  happened  to  pull 
the  same  way.  If  you  didn't,  something  would 
break.  Mrs.  Breen  is  a  lady  of  powerful  convictions. 
She  thinks  you  ought  to  be  good,  and  you  ought  to 
be  very  sorry  for  it,  but  not  so  sorry  as  you  ought 
to  be  for  being  happy.  I  don't  think  she  has 
given  her  daughter  any  reason  to  complain  on  the 
last  score."  He  broke  into  his  laugh  again,  and 
watched  his  mother's  frown  with  interest.  "  I  sus- 
pect that  she  does  n't  like  me  very  well.  You  could 
meet  on  common  ground  there:  you  don't  like  her 
daughter." 

"  They  must  be  a  pair  of  them,"  said  Mrs.  Mul- 
bridge  immovably.  "  Did  her  mother  like  her  study- 
ing for  a  doctor  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  understand  so.  Her  mother  is  progressive  : 
she  believes  in  the  advancement  of  women;  she 
thinks  the  men  would  oppress  them  if  they  got  a 
chance." 

"  If  one  half  the  bold  things  that  are  running 
about  the  country  had  masters  it  would  be  the  best 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  197 

thing,"  said  Mrs.  Mulbridge,  opening  the  lid  of  the 
coffee-pot,  and  clapping  it  to  with  force,  after  a  glance 
inside. 

"That's  where  Mrs.  Breen  wouldn't  agree  with 
you.  Perhaps  because  it  would  make  the  bold  things 
happy  to  have  masters,  though  she  does  n't  say  so. 
Probably  she  wants  the  women  to  have  women  doc- 
tors so  they  won't  be  so  well,  and  can  have  more 
time  to  think  whether  they  have  been  good  or  not. 
You  ought  to  hear  some  of  the  ladies  over  there 
talk,  mother." 

"  I  have  heard  enough  of  their  talk." 

"  Well,  you  ought  to  hear  Miss  Gleason.  There 
are  very  few  things  that  Miss  Gleason  does  n't  think 
can  be  done  with  cut  flowers,  from  a  wedding  to  a 
funeral." 

Mrs.  Mulbridge  perceived  that  her  son  was  speak- 
ing figuratively  of  Miss  Gleason's  sentimentality,  but 
she  was  not  very  patient  with  the  sketch  he  enjoyed 
giving  of  her.  "  Is  she  a  friend  of  that  Breen  girl's  ? " 
she  interrupted  to  ask. 

"She's  an  humble  friend,  an  admirer,  a  worshipper. 
The  Breen  girl  is  her  ideal  woman.  She  thinks  the 
Breen  girl  is  so  superior  to  any  man  living  that  she 
would  like  to  make  a  match  for  her."  His  mother 
glanced  sharply  at  him,  but  he  went  on  in  the  tone 


198  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

of  easy  generalization,  and  with  a  certain  pleasure  in 
the  projection  of  these  strange  figures  against  her 
distorting  imagination :  "  You  see,  mother,  that  the 
most  advanced  thinkers  among  those  ladies  are  not 
so  very  different,  after  all,  from  you  old -fashioned 
people.  When  they  try  to  think  of  the  greatest 
good  fortune  that  can  befall  an  ideal  woman,  it  is  to 
have  her  married.  The  only  trouble  is  to  find  a  man 
good  enough ;  and  if  they  can't  find  one,  they  're  apt 
to  invent  one.  They  have  strong  imaginations." 

"  I  should  think  they  would  make  you  sick,  amongst 
them,"  said  his  mother.  "Are  you  going  to  have 
anything  more  to  eat  ? "  she  asked,  with  a  house- 
keeper's latent  impatience  to  get  her  table  cleared 
away. 

"Yes,"  said  Dr.  Mulbridge ;  "I  haven't  finished 
yet.  And  I  'm  in  no  hurry  this  morning.  Sit  still, 
mother ;  I  want  you  to  hear  something  more  about 
my  lady  friends  at  Jocelyn's.  Dr.  Breen's  mother 
and  Miss  Gleason  don't  feel  alike  about  her.  Her 
mother  thinks  she  was  weak  in  giving  up  Mrs.  May- 
nard's  case  to  me ;  but  Miss  Gleason  told  me  about 
their  discussion,  and  she  thinks  it  is  the  great  heroic 
act  of  Dr.  Breen's  life." 

"  It  showed  some  sense,  at  least,"  Mrs.  Mulbridge 
replied.  She  had  tacitly  offered  to  release  her  son 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  199 

from  telling  her  anything  when  she  had  made  her 
motion  to  rise ;  if  he  chose  to  go  on  now,  it  was  his 
own  affair.  She  handed  him  the  plate  of  biscuit,  and 
he  took  one. 

"It  showed  inspiration,  Miss  Gleason  says.  The 
tears  came  into  her  eyes ;  I  understood  her  to  say  it 
was  godlike.  '  And  only  to  think,  doctor/  "  he  con- 
tinued, with  a  clumsy,  but  unmistakable  suggestion 
of  Miss  Gleason's  perfervid  manner,  "  '  that  such  a  girl 
.should  be  dragged  down  by  her  own  mother  to  the 
level  of  petty,  every-day  cares  and  duties,  and  should 
be  blamed  for  the  most  beautiful  act  of  self-sacrifice  ! 
Isn't  it  too  bad?'" 

"  Eufus,  Rufus ! "  cried  his  mother,  "  I  can't  stari 
it !  Stop  ! " 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Breen  is  n't  so  bad  —  not  half  so  divine 
as  Miss  Gleason  thinks  her.  And  Mrs.  Maynard 
does  n't  consider  her  surrendering  the  case  an  act  of 
self-sacrifice  at  all." 

"  I  should  hope  not ! "  said  Mrs.  Mulbridge.  "  I 
guess  she  would  n't  have  been  alive  to  tell  the  tale,  if 
it  had  n't  been  for  you." 

"Oh,  you  can't  be  sure  of  that.  You  mustn't 
believe  too  much  in  doctors,  mother.  Mrs.  Maynard 
is  pretty  tough.  And  she's  had  wonderfully  good 
nursing.  You  've  only  heard  the  Barlow  side  of  the 


200  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

matter,"  said  her  son,  betraying  now  for  the  first  time 
that  he  had  been  aware  of  any  knowledge  of  it  on 
her  part.  That  was  their  way :  though  they  seldom 
told  each  other  anything,  and  went  on  as  if  they  knew 
nothing  of  each  other's  affairs,  yet  when  they  recog- 
nized this  knowledge  it  was  without  surprise  on  either 
side.  "  I  could  tell  you  a  different  story.  She  's  a 
very  fine  girl,  mother ;  cool  and  careful  under  instruc- 
tion, and  perfectly  tractable  and  intelligent.  She's 
as  different  from  those  other  women  you  've  seen  as 
— you  are.  You  would  like  her !"  He  had  suddenly 
grown  earnest,  and  crushing  the  crust  of  a  biscuit  in 
the  strong  left  hand  which  he  rested  on  the  table,  he 
gazed  keenly  at  her  undemonstrative  face.  "She's 
no  baby,  either.  She 's  got  a  will  and  a  temper  of  her 
own.  She 's  the  only  one  of  them  I  ever  saw  that 
was  worth  her  salt." 

"I  thought  you  didn't  like  self-willed  women," 
said  his  mother  impassively. 

"  She  knows  when  to  give  up,"  he  answered,  with 
unrelaxed  scrutiny. 

His  mother  did  not  lift  her  eyes,  yet.  "How  long 
shall  you  have  to  visit  over  there  ? " 

"  I  Ve  made  my  last  professional  visit." 

"  Where  are  you  going  this  morning  ? " 

"  To  Jocelyn's." 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  201 

Mrs.  Mulbridge  now  looked  up,  and  met  her  son's 
eye.  "  What  makes  you  think  she  '11  have  you  ? " 

He  did  not  shrink  at  her  coming  straight  to  the 
point  the  moment  the  way  was  clear.  He  had  in- 
tended it,  and  he  liked  it.  But  lie  frowned  a  little 
as  he  said,  "  Because  I  want  her  to  have  me,  for  one 
thing."  His  jaw  closed  heavily,  but  his  face  lost  a 
certain  brutal  look  almost  as  quickly  as  it  had 
assumed  it.  "I  guess,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "that 
it 's  the  only  reason  I  've  got." 

"You  no  need  to  say  that,"  said  his  mother,  resent- 
ing the  implication  that  any  woman  would  not  have 
him. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not  pretty  to  look  at,  mother,  and  I  'm 
not  particularly  young;  and  for  a  while  I  thought 
there  might  be  some  one  else." 

"Who?" 

"  The  young  fellow  that  came  with  her,  that  day." 

"  That  whipper-snapper  ? " 

Dr.  Mulbridge  assented  by  his  silence.  "But  I 
guess  I  was  mistaken.  I  guess  he 's  tried  and  missed 
it.  The  field  is  clear,  for  all  I  can  see.  And  she 's 
made  a  failure  in  one  way,  and  then  you  know  a 
woman  is  in  the  humor  to  try  it  in  another.  She 
wants  a  good  excuse  for  giving  up.  That 's  what  I 
think." 


202  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

"Well,"  said  his  mother,  "I  presume  you  know 
what  you  're  about,  Rufus." 

She  took  up  the  coffee-pot,  on  the  lid  of  which  she 
had  been  keeping  her  hand,  and  went  into  the  kitchen 
with  it.  She  removed  the  dishes,  and  left  him  sitting 
before  the  empty  table-cloth.  When  she  came  for 
that,  he  took  hold  of  her  hand,  and  looked  up  into 
her  face,  over  which  a  scarcely  discernible  tremor 
passed.  "Well,  mother?" 

"  It 's  what  I  always  knew  I  had  got  to  come  to, 
first  or  last.  And  I  suppose  I  ought  to  feel  glad 
enough  I  did  n't  have  to  come  to  it  at  first." 

"  No,"  said  her  son.  "  I  'm  not  a  stripling  any 
longer."  He  laughed,  keeping  his  mother's  hand. 

She  freed  it  and  taking  up  the  table-cloth  folded 
it  lengthwise  and  then  across,  and  laid  it  neatly  away 
in  the  cupboard.  "  I  sha'  n't  interfere  with  you,  nor 
any  woman  that  you  bring  here  to  be  your  wife. 
I  've  had  my  day,  and  I  'm  not  one  of  the  old  fools 
that  think  they  're  going  to  have  and  to  hold  forever. 
You  've  always  been  a  good  boy  to  me,  and  I  guess 
you  hain't  ever  had  to  complain  of  your  mother 
stan'in'  in  your  way.  I  sha'  n't  now.  But  I  did 
think"  — 

She  stopped,  and  shut  her  lips  firmly. 

"  Speak  up,  mother  ! "  he  cried. 


DK.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  203 

"  I  guess  I  better  not,"  she  answered,  setting  her 
chair  back  against  the  wall. 

"  I  know  what  you  mean.  You  mean  about  my 
laughing  at  women  that  try  to  take  men's  places  in 
the  world.  Well,  I  did  laugh  at  them.  They're 
ridiculous.  I  don't  want  to  marry  this  girl  because 
she  's  a  doctor.  That  was  the  principal  drawback,  in 
my  mind.  But  it  does  n't  make  any  difference,  and 
would  n't  now,  if  she  was  a  dozen  doctors." 

His  mother  let  down  the  leaves  of  the  table,  and 
pushed  it  against  the  wall,  and  he  rose  from  the  chair 
in  which  he  was  left  sitting  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  "  I  presume,"  she  said,  with  her  back  toward 
him,  as  she  straightened  the  table  accurately  against 
the  -mopboard,  "  that  you  can  let  me  have  the  little 
house  at  Grant's  Corner." 

"  Why,  mother  !  "  he  cried.  "  You  don't  suppose  I 
should  ever  let  you  be  turned  out  of  house  and  home  ? 
You  can  stay  here  as  long  as  you  live.  But  it  has  n't 
come  to  that,  yet.  I  don't  know  that  she  cares  any- 
thing about  me.  But  there  are  chances,  and  there 
are  signs.  The  chances  are  that  she  won't  have  the 
courage  to  take  up  her  plan  of  life  again,  and  that 
she  '11  consider  any  other  that 's  pressed  home  upon 
her.  And  I  take  it  for  a  good  sign  that  she 's  sent 
that  fellow  adrift.  If  her  mind  had  n't  been  set  on 


204  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

some  one  else,  she  'd  have  taken  him,  in  this  broken- 
Tip  state  of  hers.  Besides,  she  has  formed  the  habit 
of  doing  what  I  say,  and  there 's  a  great  deal  in  mere 
continuity  of  habit.  It  will  be  easier  for  her  to  say 
yes  than  to  say  no ;  it  would  be  very  hard  for  her  to 
say  no." 

While  he  eagerly  pressed  these  arguments  his 
mother  listened  stonily,  without  apparent  interest  or 
sympathy.  But  at  the  end  she  asked,  "  How  are  you 
going  to  support  a  wife  ?  Your  practice  here  won't 
do  it.  Has  she  got  anything  ?  " 

"She  has  property,  I  believe,"  replied  her  son. 
"She  seems  to  have  been  brought  up  in  that  way." 

"  She  won't  want  to  come  and  live  here,  then. 
She'll  have  notions  of  her  own.  If  she's  like -the 
rest  of  them,  she  11  never  have  you." 

"  If  she  were  like  the  rest  of  them,  I  'd  never  have 
her.  But  she  isn't.  As  far  as  I'm  concerned,  it's 
nothing  against  her  that  she 's  studied  medicine. 
She  did  n't  do  it  from  vanity,  or  ambition,  or  any 
abnormal  love  of  it.  She  did  it,  so  far  so  I  can  find 
out,  because  she  wished  to  do  good  that  way.  She 's 
been  a  little  notional,  she 's  had  her  head  addled 
by  women's  talk,  and  she 's  in  a  queer  freak ;  but 
it's  only  a  girl's  freak  after  all:  you  can't  say  any- 
thing worse  of  her.  She 's  a  splendid  woman,  and  her 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  205 

property 's  neither  here  nor  there.  I  could  support 
her." 

"  I  presume,"  replied  his  mother,  "  that  she  's  been 
used  to  ways  that  ain't  like  our  ways.  I  've  always 
stuck  up  for  you,  Bufus,  stiff  enough,  I  guess ;  but  I 
ain't  agoin'  to  deny  that  you  're  country  born  and  bred. 
I  can  see  that,  and  she  can  see  it,  too.  It  makes  a 
great  difference  with  girls.  I  don't  know  as  she  'd 
call  you  what  they  call  a  gentleman." 

Dr.  Mulbridge  flushed  angrily.  Every  American,  of 
whatever  standing  or  breeding,  thinks  of  himself  as 
a  gentleman,  and  nothing  can  gall  him  more  than  the 
insinuation  that  he  is  less.  "What  do  you  mean, 
mother  ? " 

"You  hain't  ever  been  in  such  ladies'  society  as 
hers  in  the  same  way.  I  know  that  they  all  think 
the  world  of  you,  and  flatter  you  up,  and  they  're  as 
biddable  as  you  please  when  you're  doctorin'  'em; 
but  I  guess  it  would  be  different  if  you  was  to  set  up 
for  one  of  their  own  kind  amongst  'em." 

"There  isn't  one  of  them,"  he  retorted,  "that  I 
don't  believe  I  could  have  for  the  turn  of  my  hand, 
especially  if  it  was  doubled  into  a  fist.  They  like 
force." 

"  Oh,  you  've  only  seen  the  sick  married  ones.  I 
guess  you  '11  find  a  well  girl  is  another  thing." 


206  DR.    BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  They  're  all  alike.  And  I  think  I  should  be  some- 
thing of  a  relief  if  I  was  n't  like  what  she 's  been  used 
to  hearing  called  a  gentleman ;  she  'd  prefer  me  on 
that  account.  But  if  you  come  to  blood,  I  guess  the 
Mulbridges  and  Gardiners  can  hold  up  their  heads 
with  the  best,  anywhere." 

"  Yes,  like  the  Camfers  and  Eafflins."  These  were 
people  of  ancestral  consequence  and  local  history, 
who  had  gone  up  to  Boston  from  Corbitant,  and  had 
succeeded  severally  as  green-grocers  and  retail  dry- 
goods  men,  with  the  naturally  attendant  social  dis- 
tinction. 

"  Pshaw  ! "  cried  her  son.  "  If  she  cares  for  me  at 
all,  she  won't  care  for  the  cut  of  my  clothes,  or  my 
table  manners." 

"  Yes,  that 's  so.  'T  ain't  on  my  account  that  I  want 
you  should  make  sure  she  doos  care." 

He  looked  hard  at  her  immovable  face,  with  its 
fallen  eyes,  and  then  went  out  of  the  room.  He  never 
quarrelled  with  his  mother,  because  his  anger,  like  her 
own,  was  dumb,  and  silenced  him  as  it  mounted. 
Her  misgivings  had  stung  him  deeply,  and  at  the  bot- 
tom of  his  indolence  and  indifference  was  a  fiery 
pride,  not  easily  kindled,  but  unquenchable.  He  flung 
the  harness  upon  his  old  unkempt  horse,  and  tackled 
him  to  the  mud-encrusted  buggy,  for  whose  shabbiness 


DE.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  207 

he  had  never  cared  before.  He  was  tempted  to  go 
back  into  the  house,  and  change  his  uncouth  Canada 
homespun  coat  for  the  broadcloth  frock  which  he  wore 
when  he  went  to  Boston ;  but  he  scornfully  resisted 
it,  and  drove  off  in  his  accustomed  figure. 

His  mother's  last  words  repeated  themselves  to 
him,  and  in  that  dialogue,  in  which  he  continued  to 
dramatize  their  different  feelings,  he  kept  replying, 
"  Well,  the  way  to  find  out  whether  she  cares  is  to 
ask  her." 


208  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 


X. 


DURING  her  convalescence  Mrs.  Maynard  had  the 
time  and  inclination  to  give  Grace  some  good  advice. 
She  said  that  she  had  thought  a  great  deal  about  it 
throughout  her  sickness,  and  she  had  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  Grace  was  throwing  away  her  life. 

"You're  not  fit  to  be  a  doctor,  Grace,"  she  said. 
"  You  're  too  nervous,  and  you  're  too  conscientious. 
It  is  n't  merely  your  want  of  experience.  No  matter 
how  much  experience  you  had,  if  you  saw  a  case  going 
wrong  in  your  hands,  you  'd  want  to  call  in  some  one 
else  to  set  it  right.  Do  you  suppose  Dr.  Mulbridge 
would  have  given  me  up  to  another  doctor  because  he 
was  afraid  he  could  n't  cure  me  ?  No,  indeed  !  He  'd 
have  let  me  die  first,  and  I  should  n't  have  blamed 
him.  Of  course  I  know  what  pressure  I  brought  to 
bear  upon  you,  but  you  had  no  business  to  mind  me. 
You  ought  n't  to  have  minded  my  talk  any  more  than 
the  buzzing  of  a  mosquito,  and  no  real  doctor  would. 
If  he  wants  to  be  a  success,  he  must  be  hard-hearted; 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  209 

as  hard-hearted  as  "  —  she  paused  for  a  comparison, 
and  failing  any  other  added  —  "as  all  possessed." 
To  the  like  large-minded  and  impartial  effect,  she  ran 
on  at  great  length.  "No,  Grace,"  she  concluded, 
"  what  you  want  to  do  is  to  get  married.  You  would 
be  a  good  wife,  and  you  would  be  a  good  mother. 
The  only  trouble  is  that  I  don't  know  any  man  wor- 
thy of  you,  or  half  worthy.  No,  I  don't ! " 

Now  that  her  recovery  was  assured,  Mrs.  Maynard 
was  very  forgiving  and  sweet  and  kind  with  every 
one.  The  ladies  who  came  in  to  talk  with  her  said 
that  she  was  a  changed  creature ;  she  gave  them  all 
the  best  advice,  and  she  had  absolutely  no  shame 
whatever  for  the  inconsistency  involved  by  her  recon- 
ciliation with  her  husband.  She  rather  flaunted  the 
happiness  of  her  reunion  in  the  face  of  the  public,  and 
she  vouchsafed  an  explanation  to  no  one.  There  had 
never  been  anything  definite  in  her  charges  against 
him,  even  to  Grace,  and  her  tacit  withdrawal  of  them 
succeeded  perfectly  well.  The  ladies,  after  some 
cynical  tittering,  forgot  them,  and  rejoiced  in  the 
spectacle  of  conjugal  harmony  afforded  them  :  women 
are  generous  creatures,  and  there  is  hardly  any  of- 
fence which  they  are  not  willing  another  woman  should 
forgive  her  husband,  when  once  they  have  said  that 
they  do  not  see  how  she  could  ever  forgive  him. 

14 


210  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

Mrs.  Maynard's  silence  seemed  insufficient  to  none 
but  Mrs.  Breen  and  her  own  husband.  The  former 
vigorously  denounced  its  want  of  logic  to  Grace  as  all 
but  criminal,  though  she  had  no  objection  to  Mr. 
Maynard.  He,  in  fact,  treated  her  with  a  filial  respect 
which  went  far  to  efface  her  preconceptions ;  and  he 
did  what  he  could  to  retrieve  himself  from  the  dis- 
grace of  a  separation  in  Grace's  eyes.  Perhaps  he 
thought  that  the  late  situation  was  known  to  her 
alone,  when  he  casually  suggested,  one  day,  that  Mrs. 
Maynard  was  peculiar. 

"  Yes,"  said  Grace  mercifully ;  "  but  she  has  been 
out  of  health  so  long.  That  makes  a  great  difference. 
She 's  going  to  be  better  now." 

"  Oh,  it 's  going  to  come  out  all  right  in  the  end," 
he  said,  with  his  unbuoyant  hopefulness, "  and  I  reck- 
on I  've  got  to  help  it  along.  Why,  I  suppose  every 
man 's  a  trial  at  times,  doctor  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say.  I  know  that  every  woman  is,"  said 
the  girl. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Well,  may  be  you  're  partly  right. 
But  you  don't  suppose  but  what  a  man  generally  be- 
gins it,  do  you  ?  There  was  Adam,  you  know.  He 
did  n't  pull  the  apple  ;  but  he  fell  off  into  that  sleep, 
and  woke  up  with  one  of  his  ribs  dislocated,  and  that's 
what  really  commenced  the  trouble.  If  it  hadn't 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  211 

been  for  Adam,  there  would  n't  have  been  any  woman, 
you  know ;  and  you  could  n't  blame  her  for  what  hap- 
pened after  she  got  going  ?  "  There  was  no  gleam  of 
insinuation  in  his  melancholy  eye,  and  Grace  listened 
without  quite  knowing  what  to  make  of  it  all.  "  And 
then  I  suppose  he  was  n't .  punctual  at  meals,  and 
stood  round  talking  politics  at  night,  when  he  ought 
to  have  been  at  home  with  his  family  ? " 

"  Who  ? "  asked  Grace. 

"  Adam,"  replied  Mr.  Maynard  lifelessly.  "  Well, 
they  got  along  pretty  well  outside,"  he  continued. 
"  Some  of)  the  children  did  n't  turn  out  just  what  you 
might  have  expected  ;  but  raising  children  is  mighty 
uncertain  business.  Yes,  they  got  along."  He  ended 
his  parable  with  a  sort  of  weary  sigh,  as  if  oppressed 
by  experience.  Grace  looked  at  his  slovenly  figure, 
his  smoky  complexion,  and  the  shaggy  outline  made  by 
his  untrimmed  hair  and  beard,  and  she  wondered  how 
Louise  could  marry  him ;  but  she  liked  him,  and  she 
was  willing  to  accept  for  all  reason  the  cause  of  un- 
happiness  at  which  he  further  hinted.  "You  see, 
doctor,  an  incompatibility  is  a  pretty  hard  thing  to 
manage.  You  can't  forgive  it  like  a  real  grievance. 
You  have  to  try  other  things,  and  find  out  that  there 
are  worse  things,  and  then  you  come  back  to  it  and 
stand  it.  We  're  talking  Wyoming  and  cattle  range, 


212  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

now,  and  Mrs.  Maynard  is  all  for  the  new  deal ;  it 's 
going  to  make  us  healthy,  wealthy,  and  wise.  Well, 
I  suppose  the  air  will  be  good  for  her,  out  there.  You 
doctors  are  sending  lots  of  your  patients  our  way,  now." 
The  gravity  with  which  he  always  assumed  that  Grace 
was  a  physician  in  full  and  regular  practice  would  have 
had  its  edge  of  satire,  coming  from  another  ;  but  from 
him,  if  it  was  ironical,  it  was  also  caressing,  and  she 
did  not  resent  it.  "  I  Ve  had  some  talk  with  your 
colleague,  here,  Dr.  Mulbridge,  and  he  seems  to  think 
it  will  be  the  best  thing  for  hej1.  I  suppose  you  agree 
with  him  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Grace,  "  his  opinion  would  be  of 
great  value.  It  would  n't  be  at  all  essential  that 
I  should  agree  with  him." 

"  Well,  I  don  't  know  about  that,"  said  Maynard. 
"  I  reckon  he  thinks  a  good  deal  of  your  agreeing  with 
him.  I  Ve  been  talking  with  him  about  settling  out 
our  way.  We  Ve  got  a  magnificent  country,  and  there 's 
bound  to  be  plenty  of  sickness  there,  sooner  or  later. 
Why,  doctor,  it  would  be  a  good  opening  for  you  ! 
It 's  just  the  place  for  you.  You  're  off  here  in  a 
corner,  in  New  England,  and  you  have  n't  got  any 
sort  of  scope ;  but  at  Cheyenne  you  'd  have  the  whole 
field  to  yourself;  there  is  n't  another  lady  doctor  in 
Cheyenne.  Now,  you  come  out  with  us.  Bring  your 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  213 

mother  with  you,  and  grow  up  with  the  country. 
Your  mother  would  like  it.  There  's  enough  moral 
obliquity  in  Cheyenne  to  keep  her  conscience  in  a 
state  of  healthful  activity  all  the  time.  Yes,  you  'd 
get  along  out  there." 

Grace  laughed,  and  shook  her  head.  It  was  part  of 
the  joke  which  life  seemed  to  be  with  Mr.  Maynard 
that  the  inhabitants  of  New  England  were  all  eager 
to  escape  from  their  native  section,  and  that  they 
ought  to  be  pitied  and  abetted  in  this  desire.  As 
soon  as  his  wife's  convalescence  released  him  from 
constant  attendance  upon  her,  he  began  an  inspec- 
tion of  the  region  from  the  compassionate  point  of 
view  ;  the  small,  frugal  husbandry  appealed  to  his  com- 
miseration, and  he  professed  to  have  found  the  use 
of  canvas  caps  upon  the  haycocks  intolerably  pa- 
thetic. "  Why,  I  'm  told,"  he  said,  "  that  they  have  to 
blanket  the  apple-trees  while  the  fruit  is  setting  • 
and  they  kill  off  our  Colorado  bugs  by  turning  them 
loose,  one  at  a  time,  on  the  potato-patches  :  the  bug 
starves  to  death  in  forty-eight  hours.  But  you've 
got  plenty  of  schoolhouses,  doctor ;  it  does  beat  all, 
about  the  schoolhouses.  And  it 's  an  awful  pity  that 
there  are  no  children  to  go  to  school  in  them.  Why, 
of  course  the  people  go  West  as  fast  as  they  can, 
but  they  ought  to  be  helped ;  the  Government  ought 


214  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

to  do  something.  They  're  good  people ;  make  first-rate 
citizens  when  you  get  them  waked  up,  out  there. 
But  they  ought  all  to  be  got  away,  and  let  somebody 
run  New  England  as  a  summer  resort.  It 's  pretty, 
and  it 's  cool  and  pleasant,  and  the  fishing  is  excel- 
lent ;  milk,  eggs,  and  all  kinds  of  berries  and  histori- 
cal associations  on  the  premises ;  and  it  could  be 
made  very  attractive  three  months  of  the  year ;  but 
my  goodness  !  you  ought  n't  to  ask  anybody  to  live 
here.  You  come  out  with  us,  doctor,  and  see  that 
country,  and  you  '11  know  what  I  mean." 

His  boasts  were  always  uttered  with  a  wan,  lack- 
lustre irony,  as  if  he  were  burlesquing  the  conven- 
tional Western  brag  and  enjoying  the  mystifications 
of  his  listener,  whose  feeble  sense  of  humor  often 
failed  to  seize  his  intention,  and  to  whom  any  depre- 
ciation of  New  England  was  naturally  unintelligible. 
She  had  not  come  to  her  final  liking  for  him  without 
a  season  of  serious  misgiving,  but  after  that  she 
rested  in  peace  upon  what  every  one  knowing  him 
felt  to  be  his  essential  neighborliness.  Her  wonder 
had  then  come  to  be  how  he  could  marry  Louise, 
when  they  sat  together  on -the  seaward  piazza,  and 
he  poured  out  his  easy  talk,  unwearied  and  unwearying, 
while,  with  one  long,  lank  leg  crossed  upon  the  other, 
he  swung  his  unblacked,  thin-soled  boot  to  and  fro. 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  215 

"  Well,  he  was  this  kind  of  a  fellow :  When  we  were 
in  Switzerland,  he  was  always  climbing  some  moun- 
tain or  other.  They  could  n't  have  hired  me  to  climb 
one  of  their  mountains  it'  they  'd  given  me  all  their 
scenery,  and  thrown  their  goitres  in.  I  used  to  tell 
him  that  the  side  of  a  house  was  good  enough  for  me. 
But  nothing  but  the  tallest  mountains  would  do  him  ; 
and  one  day  when  he  was  up  there  on  the  comb  of 
the  roof  somewhere,  tied  with  a  rope  round  his  waist 
to  the  guide  and  a  Frenchman,  the  guide's  foot  slipped, 
and  he  commenced  going  down.  The  Frenchman 
was  just  going  to  cut  the  rope  and  let  the  guide  play 
it  alone ;  but  he  knocked  the  knife  out  of  his  hand 
with  his  long-handled  axe,  and  when  the  jerk  came 
lie  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  comb,  where  he  could 
brace  himself,  and  brought  them  both  up  standing. 
Well,  he  's  got  muscles  like  bunches  of  steel  wire. 
Did  n't  he  ever  tell  you  about  it  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Grace  sadly. 

"  Well,  somebody  ought  to  expose  Libby.  I  don't 
suppose  I  should  ever  have  known  about  it  myself, 
if  I  had  n't  happened  to  see  the  guide's  friends  and 
relations  crying  over  him  next -day  as  if  he  was  the 
guide's  funeral.  Hello  !  There  's  the  doctor."  He 
unlimbered  his  lank  legs,  and  rose  with  an  effect  of 
opening  his  person  like  a  pocket-knife.  "  As  I  under- 


216  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

stand  it,  this  is  an  unprofessional  visit,  and  the 
doctor  is  here  among  us  as  a  guest.  I  don't  know 
exactly  what  to  do  under  the  circumstances,  —  whether 
we  ought  to  talk  about  Mrs.  Maynard's  health  or  the 
opera ;  but  I  reckon  if  we  show  our  good  intentions 
it  will  come  out  all  right  in  the  end." 

He  went  forward  to  meet  the  doctor,  who  came  up 
to  shake  hands  with  Grace,  and  then  followed  him 
in-doors  to  see  Mrs.  Maynard.  Grace  remained  in 
her  place,  and  she  was  still  sitting  there  when  Dr. 
Mulbridge  returned  without  him.  He  came  directly 
to  her,  and  said,  "  I  want  to  speak  with  you,  Miss 
Breen.  Can  I  see  you  alone  ?  " 

"  Is  —  is  Mrs.  Maynard  worse  ? "  she  asked,  rising 
in  a  little  trepidation. 

"  No  ;  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  her.  She 's  practi- 
cally well  now ;  I  can  remand  the  case  to  you.  I 
wish  to  see  you  —  about  yourself."  She  hesitated  at 
this  peculiar  summons,  but  some  pressure  was  upon 
her  to  obey  Dr.  Mulbridge,  as  there  was  upon  most 
people  whom  he  wished  to  obey  him.  "I  want  to 
talk  with  you,"  he  added,  "  about  what  you  are  going 
to  do,  —  about  your  future.  Will  you  come  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered ;  and  she  suffered  him  to 
lead  the  way  down  from  the  piazza,  and  out  upon  one 
of  the  sandy  avenues  toward  the  woods,  in  which  it 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  217 

presently  lost  itself.  "  But  there  will  be  very  little 
to  talk  about,"  she  continued,  as  they  moved  away, 
"  if  you  confine  yourself  to  my  future.  I  have  none." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  've  got  rid  of  it,"  he  rejoined. 
"  You  've  got  a  future  as  much  as  you  have  a  past,  and 
there 's  this  advantage,  —  that  you  can  do  something 
with  your  future." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  she  asked,  with  a  little  bitter- 
ness. "  That  has  n't  been  my  experience." 

"  It 's  been  mine,"  he  said,  "  and  you  can  make  it 
yours.  Come,  I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  your 
future,  because  I  have  been  thinking  very  seriously 
about  my  own.  I  want  to  ask  your  advice  and  to 
give  you  mine.  I  '11  commence  by  asking  yours. 
What  do  you  think  of  me  as  a  physician  ?  I  know 
you  are  able  to  judge." 

She  was  flattered,  in  spite  of  herself.  There  were 
long  arrears  of  cool  indifference  to  her  own  claims  in 
that  direction,  which  she  might  very  well  have  re- 
sented ;  but  she  did  not.  There  was  that  flattery  in 
his  question  which  the  junior  in  any  vocation  feels 
in  the  appeal  of  his  senior ;  and  there  was  the  flattery 
which  any  woman  feels  in  a  man's  recourse  to  her 
judgment.  Still,  she  contrived  to  parry  it  with  a  little 
thrust.  "  I  don't  suppose  the  opinion  of  a  mere  homoe- 
opathist  can  be  of  any  value  to  a  regular  practitioner." 


218  DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

He  laughed.  "  You  have  been  a  regular  practi- 
tioner yourself  for  the  last  three  weeks.  What  do 
you  think  of  my  management  of  the  case  ? " 

"  I  have  never  abandoned  my  principles,"  she  began. 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  about  that !  What  do  you  think 
of  me  as  a  doctor  ? "  he  persisted. 

"  Of  course  I  admire  you.  Why  do  you  ask  me 
that  ? " 

"  Because  I  wished  to  know.  And  because  I  wished 
to  ask  you  something  else.  You  have  been  brought 
up  in  a  city,  and  I  have  always  lived  here  in  the 
country,  except  the  two  years  I  was  out  with  the 
army.  Do  you  think  I  should  succeed  if  I  pulled  up 
here,  and  settled  in  Boston  ? " 

"  I  have  not  lived  in  Boston,"  she  answered.  "  My 
opinion  would  n't  be  worth  much  on  that  point." 

"  Yes,  it  would.  You  know  city  people,  and  what 
they  are.  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  them  in  my 
practice  at  the  hotels  about  here,  and  some  of  the 
ladies  —  when  they  happened  to  feel  more  comforta- 
ble —  have  advised  me  to  come  to  Boston."  His 
derision  seemed  to  throw  contempt  on  all  her  sex; 
but  he  turned  to  her,  and  asked  again  earnestly, 
"  What  do  you  think  ?  Some  of  the  profession  know 
me  there.  When  I  left  the  school,  some  of  the  faculty 
urged  me  to  try  my  chance  in  the  city." 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  219 

She  waited  a  moment  before  she  answered.  "  You 
know  that  I  must  respect  your  skill,  and  I  believe 
that  you  could  succeed  anywhere.  I  judge  your  fit- 
ness by  my  own  deficiency.  The  first  time  I  saw 
you  with  Mrs.  Maynard,  I  saw  that  you  had  every- 
thing that  I  had  n't.  I  saw  that  I  was  a  failure,  and 
why,  and  that  it  would  be  foolish  for  me  to  keep  up 
the  struggle." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  have  given  it  up  ? "  he 
demanded,  with  a  triumph  in  which  there  was  no 
sympathy. 

"  It  has  given  me  up.  I  never  liked  it,  —  I  told 
you  that  before,  —  and  I  never  took  it  up  from  any 
ambitious  motive.  It  seemed  a  shame  for  me  to  be  of 
no  use  in  the  world  ;  and  I  hoped  that  I  might  do 
something  in  a  way  that  seemed  natural  for  women. 
And  I  don't  give  up  because  I  'in  unfit  as  a  wo- 
man. I  might  be  a  man,  and  still  be  impulsive 
and  timid  and  nervous,  and  everything  that  I  thought 
I  was  not." 

"  Yes,  you  might  be  all  that,  and  be  a  man ;  but 
you'd  be  an  exceptional  man,  and  I  don't  think 
you're  an  exceptional  woman.  If  you've  failed,  it 
is  n't  your  temperament  that 's  to  blame." 

"  I  think  it  is.  The  wrong  is  somewhere  in  me 
individually.  I  know  it  is." 


220  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

Dr.  Mulbridge,  walking  beside  her,  with  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him,  threw  up  his  head  and  laughed. 
"  Well,  have  it  your  own  way,  Miss  Breen.  Only  I 
don't  agree  with  you.  Why  should  you  wish  to  spare 
your  sex  at  your  own  expense  ?  But  that 's  the  way 
with  some  ladies,  I've  noticed.  They  approve  of 
what  women  attempt  because  women  attempt  it, 
and  they  believe  the  attempt  reflects  honor  on  them. 
It's  tremendous  to  think  what  men  could  accom- 
plish for  their  sex,  if  they  only  hung  together  as 
women  do.  But  they  can't.  They  haven't  the 
generosity." 

"  I  think  you  don't  understand  me,"  said  Grace, 
with  a  severity  that  amused  him.  "I  wished  to 
regard  myself,  in  taking  up  this  profession,  entire- 
ly as  I  believed  a  man  would  have  regarded  him- 
self." 

"  And  were  you  able  to  do  it  ? " 

"  No,"  she  unintentionally  replied  to  this  unex- 
pected question. 

"  Haw,  haw,  haw  ! "  laughed  Dr.  Mulbridge  at  her 
helpless  candor.  "  And  are  you  sure  that  you  give  it 
up  as  a  man  would  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  mean,"  she  said,  vexed  and 
bewildered. 

"Do  you  do  it  fairly  and  squarely  because   you 


DK.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  221 

believe  that  you  're  a  failure,  or  because  you  partly 
feel  that  you  have  n't  been  fairly  dealt  with  ? " 

"  I  believe  that  if  Mrs.  Maynard  had  had  the  same 
confidence  in  me  that  she  would  have  had  in  any  man 
I  should  not  have  failed.  But  every  woman  physi- 
cian has  a  double  disadvantage  that  I  had  n't  the 
strength  to  overcome,  —  her  own  inexperience  and 
the  distrust  of  other  women." 

"  Well,  whose  fault  is  that  ?  " 

"  Not  the  men's.  It  is  the  men  alone  who  give 
women  any  chance.  They  are  kind  and  generous 
and  liberal-minded.  I  have  no  blame  for  them,  and 
I  have  no  patience  with  women  who  want  to  treat 
them  as  the  enemies  of  women's  advancement. 
Women  can't  move  a  step  forwards  without  their 
sufferance  and  help.  Dr.  Mulbridge,"  she  cried,  "  I 
wish  to  apologize  for  the  hasty  and  silly  words  I 
used  to  you  the  day  I  came  to  ask  you  to  consult 
with  me.  I  ought  to  have  been  grateful  to  you  for 
consenting  at  first,  and  when  you  took  back  your 
consent  I  ought  to  have  considered  your  position. 
You  were  entirely  right.  We  had  no  common  ground 
to  meet  on,  and  I  behaved  like  a  petulant,  foolish, 
vulgar  girl ! " 

"  No,  no,"  he  protested,  laughing  in  recollection  of 
the  scene.  "  You  were  all  right,  and  I  was  in  a  fix ; 


222 


and  if  your  own  fears  had  n't  come  to  the  rescue,  I 
don't  know  how  I  should  have  got  out  of  it.  It 
would  have  been  disgraceful,  would  n't  it,  to  refuse  a 
lady's  request.  You  don't  know  how  near  I  was  to 
giving  way.  I  can  tell  you,  now  that  it 's  all  over.  I 
had  never  seen  a  lady  of  our  profession  before,"  he 
added  hastily,  "  and  my  curiosity  was  up.  I  always 
had  my  doubts  about  the  thoroughness  of  women's 
study,  and  I  should  have  liked  to  see  where  your 
training  failed.  I  must  say  I  found  it  very  good, 
—  I  Ve  told  you  that.  You  would  n't  fail  individu- 
ally :  you  would  fail  because  you  are  a  woman." 

"  I  don't  believe  that,"  said  Grace. 

"Well,  then,  because  your  patients  are  women. 
It 's  all  one.  What  will  you  do  ? " 

"I  shall  not  do  anything.  I  shall  give  it  all 
up." 

"  But  what  shall  you  do  then  ?  " 

«  I  —  don't  know." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  be  ?  A  fashionable 
woman  ?  Or  are  you  going  to  Europe,  and  settle 
down  there  with  the  other  American  failures  ?  I  've 
heard  about  them,  —  in  Rome  and  Florence  and 
Paris.  Are  you  going  to  throw  away  the  study 
you've  put  into  this  profession?  You  took  it  up 
because  you  wanted  to  do  good.  Don't  you  want  to 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  223 

do  good  any  more  ?  Has  the  human  race  turned  out 
unworthy  ? " 

She  cowered  at  this  arraignment,  in  which  she 
could  not  separate  the  mocking  from  the  justice. 
"  What  do  you  advise  me  to  do  ?  Do  you  think 
I  could  ever  succeed  ? " 

"  You  could  never  succeed  alone." 

"Yes,  I  know  that;  I  felt  that  from  the  first. 
But  I  have  planned  to  unite  with  a  woman  physician 
older  than  myself  "  — 

"  And  double  your  deficiency.  Sit  down  here,"  he 
said ;  "  I  wish  to  talk  business."  They  had  entered 
the  border  of  the  woods  encompassing  Jocelyn's,  and 
he  pointed  to  a  stump,  beside  which  lay  the  fallen 
tree.  She  obeyed  mechanically,  and  he  remained 
standing  near  her,  with  one  foot  lifted  to  the  log ;  he 
leaned  forward  over  her,  and  seemed  to  seize  a  physi- 
cal advantage  in  the  posture.  "  From  your  own  point 
of  view,  you  would  have  no  right  to  give  up  your 
undertaking  if  there  was  a  chance  of  success  in  it. 
You  would  have  no  more  right  to  give  up  than  a 
woman  who  had  gone  out  as  a  missionary." 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  compare  myself  with  such  a 
woman  ;  but  I  should  have  no  more  right  to  give  up," 
she  answered,  helpless  against  the  logic  of  her  fate, 
which  he  had  somehow  divined. 


224  DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"Well,  then,  listen  to  me.  I  can  give  you  this 
chance.  Are  you  satisfied  that  with  my  advice  you 
could  have  succeeded  in  Mrs.  Maynard's  case  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.     But  what "  - 

"  I  think  so,  too.     Don't  rise  ! " 

His  will  overcame  the  impulse  that  had  betrayed 
itself,  and  she  sank  back  to  her  seat.  "  I  offer  you  my 
advice  from  this  time  forward ;  I  offer  you  my  help." 

"  That  is  very  good  of  you,"  she  murmured  ;  "  and 
I  appreciate  your  generosity  more  than  I  can  say.  I 
know  the  prejudice  you  must  have  had  to  overcome 
in  regard  to  women  physicians  before  you  could  bring 
yourself  to  do  this ;  and  I  know  how  you  must  have 
despised  me  for  failing  in  my  attempt,  and  giving 
myself  up  to  my  feeble  temperament.  But "  — 

"Oh,  we  won't  speak  of  all  that,"  he  interrupted. 
"  Of  course  I  felt  the  prejudice  against  women  enter- 
ing the  profession  which  we  all  feel ;  it  was  ridiculous 
and  disgusting  to  me  till  I  saw  you.  I  won't  urge  you 
from  any  personal  motive  to  accept  my  offer.  But  T 
know  that  if  you  do  you  can  realize  all  your  hopes 
of  usefulness ;  and  I  ask  you  to  consider  that  certainly. 
But  you  know  the  only  way  it  could  be  done." 

She  looked  him  in  the  eyes,  with  dismay  in  her 
growing  intelligence. 

"  What  —  what  do  you  mean  ? " 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  225 

"  I  mean  that  I  ask  you  to  let  me  help  you  carry 
out  your  plan  of  life,  and  to  save  all  you  have  done, 
and  all  you  have  hoped,  from  waste  —  as  your  hus- 
band. Think  "  — 

She  struggled  to  her  feet  as  if  he  were  opposing  a 
palpable  resistance,  so  strongly  she  felt  the  pressure 
of  his  will.  "It  can't  be,  Dr.  Mulbridge.  Oh,  it 
can't,  indeed  !  Let  us  go  back ;  I  wish  to  go  back  ! " 
But  he  had  planted  himself  in  her  way,  and  blocked 
her  advance,  unless  she  chose  to  make  it  a  flight. 

"  I  expected  this,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  as  if  her 
wild  trepidation  interested  him  as  an  anticipated 
symptom.  "  The  whole  idea  is  new  and  startling  to 
you.  But  I  know  you  won't  dismiss  it  abruptly,  and 
I  won't  be  discouraged." 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  must !  I  will  not  think  of  it !  I 
can't !  I  do  dismiss  it  at  once.  Let  me  go  ! " 

"  Then  you  really  choose  to  be  like  the  rest,  —  a 
thing  of  hysterical  impulses,  without  conscience  or 
reason !  I  supposed  the  weakest  woman  would  be 
equal  to  an  offer  of  marriage.  And  you  had  dreamt 
of  being  a  physician  and  useful !  " 

"  I  tell  you,"  she  cried,  half  quelled  by  his  derision, 
"  that  I  have  found  out  that  I  am  not  fit  for  it,  —  that 
I  am  a  failure  and  a  disgrace ;  and  you  had  no  right 
to  expect  me  to  be  anything  else." 

15 


226  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

"  You  are  no  failure,  and  I  had  a  right  to  expect 
anything  of  you  after  the  endurance  arid  the  discre- 
tion you  have  shown  in  the  last  three  weeks.  With- 
out your  help  I  should  have  failed  myself.  You  owe 
it  to  other  women  to  go  on." 

"They  must  take  care  of  themselves,"  she  said. 
"  If  my  weakness  throws  shame  on  them,  they  must 
hear  it.  I  thank  you  for  what  you  say.  I  believe 
you  mean  it.  But  if  I  was  of  any  use  to  you  I  did  n't 
know  it " 

"  It  was  probably  inspiration,  then,"  he  interrupted 
coolly.  "  Come,  this  is  n't  a  thing  to  be  frightened 
at.  You're  not  obliged  to  do  what  I  say.  But  I 
think  you  ought  to  hear  me  out.  I  have  n't  spoken 
without  serious  thought,  and  I  did  n't  suppose  you 
would  reject  me  without  a  reason. 

"  Reason  ?  "  she  repeated.    "  There  is  no  reason  in  it." 

"  There  ought  to  be.  There  is,  on  my  side.  I  have 
all  kinds  of  reasons  for  asking  you  to  be  my  wife :  I 
believe  that  I  can  make  you  happy  in  the  fulfilment 
of  your  plans ;  I  admire  you  and  respect  you  more 
than  any  other  woman  I  ever  saw ;  and  I  love  you." 

"  I  don't  love  you,  and  that  is  reason  enough." 

"  Yes,  between  boys  and  girls.  But  between  men 
and  women  it  isn't  enough.  Do  you  dislike  me? " 

"No." 


DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  227 

"  Am  I  repulsive  in  any  way  ? " 

"No,  no!" 

"  I  know  that  I  am  not  very  young  and  that  I  am 
not  very  good-looking." 

"  It  is  n't  that  at  all." 

"  Of  course  I  know  that  such  things  weigh  with 
women,  and  that  personal  traits  and  habits  are  im- 
portant in  an  affair  like  this.  I  am  slovenly  and 
indifferent  about  my  dress ;  but  it 's  only  because  I 
have  lived  where  every  sort  of  spirit  and  ambition 
was  useless.  I  don't  know  about  -city  ways,  but  I 
could  pick  up  all  of  them  that  were  worth  while. 
I  spoke  of  going  to  Boston ;  but  I  would  go  anywhere 
else  with  you,  east  or  west,  that  you  chose,  and  I 
know  that  I  should  succeed.  I  haven't  done  what 
I  might  have  done  with  myself,  because  I  've  never 
had  an  object  in  life.  I  Ve  always  lived  in  the  one 
little  place,  and  I  've  never  been  out  of  it  except  when 
I  was  in  the  army.  I  Ve  always  liked  my  profes- 
sion ;  but  nothing  has  seemed  worth  while.  You 
were  a  revelation  to  me ;  you  have  put  ambition  and 
hope  into  me.  I  never  saw  any  woman  before  that 
I  would  have  turned  my  hand  to  have.  They  always 
seemed  to  me  fit  to  be  the  companions  of  fools,  or  the 
playthings  of  men.  But  of  all  the  simpletons,  the 
women  who  were  trying  to  do  something  for  woman, 


228  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

as  they  called  it,  trying  to  exemplify  and  illustrate  a 
cause,  were  the  silliest  that  I  came  across.  I  never 
happened  to  have  met  a  woman  doctor  before  you 
came  to  me ;  but  I  had  imagined  them,  and  I  could 
n't  believe  in  you  when  I  saw  you.  You  were  not 
supersensitive,  you  were  not  presumptuous,  and  you 
gave  up,  not  because  you  distrusted  yourself,  but 
because  your  patient  distrusted  you.  That  was  right : 
I  should  have  done  the  same  thing  myself.  Under 
my  direction,  you  have  shown  yourself  faithful,  docile, 
patient,  intelligent  beyond  anything  I  have  seen.  I 
have  watched  you,  and  I  know  ;  and  I  know  what 
your  peculiar  trials  have  been  from  that  woman.  You 
have  taught  me  a  lesson,  —  I  'm  not  ashamed  to  say 
it ;  and  you  Ve  given  me  a  motive.  I  was  wrong  to 
ask  you  to  marry  me  so  that  you  might  carry  out 
your  plans  :  that  was  no  way  to  appeal  to  you.  What 
I  meant  was  that  I  might  make  your  plans  my  own, 
and  that  we  might  carry  them  out  together.  I  don't 
care  for  making  money;  I  have  always  been  poor, 
and  I  had  always  expected  to  be  so  ;  and  I  am  not 
afraid  of  hard  work.  There  isn't  any  self-sacrifice 
you've  dreamed  of  that  I  wouldn't  gladly  and 
proudly  share  with  you.  You  can't  do  anything  by 
yourself,  but  we  could  do  anything  together.  If  you 
have  any  scruple  about  giving  up  your  theory  of 


DR.  BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  229 

medicine,  you  need  n't  do  it ;  and  the  State  Medical 
Association  may  go  to  the  devil.  I  Ve  said  my  say. 
What  do  you  say  ? " 

She  looked  all  round,  as  if  seeking  escape  from  a 
mesh  suddenly  flung  about  her,  and  then  she  looked 
imploringly  up  at  him.  "I  have  nothing  to  say," 
she  whispered  huskily.  "  I  can't  answer  you." 

"Well,  that's  all  I  ask,"  he  said,  moving  a  few 
steps  away,  and  suffering  her  to  rise.  "  Don't  answer 
me  now.  Take  time,  —  all  the  time  you  want,  all 
the  time  there  is." 

"  No,"  she  said,  rising,  and  gathering  some  strength 
from  the  sense  of  being  on  foot  again.  "  I  don't  mean 
that.  I  mean  that  I  don't  —  I  can't  consent." 

"You  don't  believe  in  me?  You  don't  think  I 
would  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  in  myself.  I  have  no  right  to 
doubt  you.  I  know  that  I  ought  to  honor  you  for 
what  you  propose." 

"I  don't  think  it  calls  for  any  great  honor.  Of 
course  I  should  n't  propose  it  to  every  lady  physi- 
cian." He  smiled  with  entire  serenity  and  self-pos- 
session. "  Tell  me  one  thing :  was  there  ever  a  time 
when  you  would  have  consented  ? "  She  did  not 
answer.  "  Then  you  will  consent  yet  ? " 

"No.  Don't  deceive  yourself.  I  shall  never  consent." 


230  DR.    BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

"  I  '11  leave  that  to  the  logic  of  your  own  conscience. 
You  will  do  what  seems  your  duty." 

"  You  must  n't  trust  to  my  conscience.  I  fling  it 
away  !  I  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  I  Ve 
been  tortured  enough  by  it.  There  is  no  sense  or 
justice  in  it !" 

He  laughed  easily  at  her  vehemence.  "  I  '11  trust 
your  conscience.  But  I  won't  stay  to  worry  you 
now.  I  'm  coming  again  day  after  to-morrow,  and 
I  'm  not  afraid  of  what  you  will  say  then." 

He  turned  and  left  her,  tearing  his  way  through 
the  sweet-fern  and  low  blackberry  vines,  with  long 
strides,  a  shape  of  uncouth  force.  After  he  was  out 
of  sight,  she  followed,  scared  and  trembling  at  herself, 
as  if  she  had  blasphemed. 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  231 


XL 


GRACE  burst  into  the  room  where  her  mother  sat, 
and  flung  her  hat  aside  with  a  desperate  gesture. 
"  Now,  mother,  you  have  got  to  listen  to  me.  Dr. 
Mulbridge  has  asked  me  to  marry  him  ! " 

Mrs.  Breen  put  up  her  spectacles  on  her  forehead, 
and  stared  at  her  daughter,  while  some  strong  ex- 
pressions, out  of  the  plebeian  or  rustic  past  which  lies 
only  a  generation  or  two  behind  most  of  us,  rose 
to  her  lips.  I  will  riot  repeat  them  here ;  she  had 
long  denied  them  to  herself  as  an  immoral  self-indul- 
gence, and  it  must  be  owned  that  such  things  have 
a  fearful  effect,  coming  from  old  ladies.  "  What  has 
got  into  all  the  men  ?  What  in  nature  does  he  want 
you  to  marry  him  for  ? " 

"  Oh,  for  the  best  reasons  in  the  world,"  exclaimed 
the  daughter.  "  For  reasons  that  will  make  you  ad- 
mire and  respect  him,"  she  added  ironically.  "  For 
great,  and  unselfish,  and  magnanimous  reasons ! " 


232  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

"  I  should  want  to  believe  they  were  the  real  ones, 
first,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Breen. 

"  He  wants  to  marry  me  because  he  knows  that  I 
can't  fulfil  iny  plans  of  life  alone,  and  because  we 
could  fulfil  them  together.  We  shall  not  only  be 
husband  and  wife,  but  we  shall  be  physicians  in  part- 
nership. I  may  continue  a  homoeopath,  he  says,  and 
the  State  Medical  Association  may  go  to  the  devil." 
She  used  his  language,  that  would  have  been  shocking 
to  her  ordinary  moods,  without  blenching,  and  in  their 
common  agitation  her  mother  accepted  it  as  fit  and 

becoming.     "  He  counts  upon  my  accepting  him  be- 

• 
cause  I  must  see  it  as   my  duty,  and  my  conscience 

won't  let  me  reject  the  only  opportunity  I  shall  have 
of  doi-ng  some  good  and  being  of  some  use  in  the 
world.  What  do  you  think  I  ought  to  do,  mother  ? " 
"There's  reason  in  what  he  says.  It  is  an  op- 
portunity. You  could  be  of  use,  in  that  way,  and 
perhaps  it 's  the  only  way.  Yes,"  she  continued,  fas- 
cinated by  the  logic  of  the  position,  and  its  capabili- 
ties for  vicarious  self-sacrifice.  "  I  don't  see  how  you 
can  get  out  of  it.  You  have  spent  years  and  years  of 
study,  and  a  great  deal  of  money,  to  educate  yourself 
for  a  profession  that  you  're  too  weak  to  practise  alone. 
You  can't  say  that  I  ever  advised  your  doing  it.  It 
was  your  own  idea,  and  I  didn't  oppose  it.  But 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  233 

when  you  've  gone  so  far,  you  've  formed  an  obligation 
to  go  on.  It 's  your  duty  not  to  give  up,  if  you  know 
of  any  means  to  continue.  That 's  your  duty,  as  plain 
as  can  be.  To  say  nothing  of  the  wicked  waste  of 
your  giving  up  now,  you  're  bound  to  consider  the  ef- 
fect it  would  have  upon  other  women  who  are  trying 
to  do  something  for  themselves.  The  only  thing," 
she  added,  with  some  misgiving,  "  is  whether  you  be- 
lieve he  was  in  earnest  and  would  keep  his  word  to 
you." 

"  I  think  he  was  secretly  laughing  at  me,  and  that 
he  would  expect  to  laugh  me  out  of  his  promise." 

"  Well,  then,  you  ought  to  take  time  to  reflect,  and 
you  ought  to  be  sure  that  you  're  right  about  him." 

"  Is  that  what  you  really  think,  mother  ? " 

"  I  am  always  governed  by  reason,  Grace,  and  by 
right ;  and  I  have  brought  you  up  on  that  plan.  If 
you  have  ever  departed  from  it,  it  has  not  been  witli 
my  consent,  nor  for  want  of  my  warning.  I  have 
simply  laid  the  matter  before  you." 

"  Then  you  wish  me  to  marry  him  ? " 

This  was  perhaps  a  point  that  had  not  occurred  to 
Mrs.  Breen  in  her  recognition  of  the  strength  of  Dr. 
Mulbridge's  position.  It  was  one  thing  to  trace  the 
path  of  duty ;  another  to  support  the  aspirant  in 
treading  it.  "You  ought  to  take  time  to  reflect," 


234  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

Mrs.  Breen  repeated,  with  evasion  that  she  never  used 
in  behalf  of  others. 

"Well,  mother,"  answered  Grace,  "  I  didn't  take 
time  to  reflect,  and  I  should  n't  care  whether  I  was 
right  about  him  or  not.  I  refused  him  because  I 
did  n't  love  him.  If  I  had  loved  him  that  would  have 
been  the  only  reason  I  needed  to  marry  him.  But  all 
the  duty  in  the  world  would  n't  be  enough  without  it. 
Duty  ?  I  am  sick  of  duty !  Let  the  other  women 
who  are  trying  to  do  something  for  themselves,  take 
care  of  themselves  as  men  would.  I  don't  owe  them 
more  than  a  man  would  owe  other  men,  and  I  won't 
be  hoodwinked  into  thinking  I  do.  As  for  the  waste, 
the  past  is  gone,  at  any  rate ;  and  the  waste  that  I 
lament  is  the  years  I  spent  in  working  myself  up  to 
an  undertaking  that  I  was  never  fit  for.  I  won't  con- 
tinue that  waste,  and  I  won't  keep  up  the  delusion 
that  because  I  was  very  unhappy  I  was  useful,  and 
that  it  was  doing  good  to  be  miserable.  I  like 
pleasure  and  I  like  dress  ;  I  like  pretty  things.  There 
is  no  harm  in  them.  Why  should  n't  I  have  them  ? " 

"There  is  harm  in  them  for  you,"  —  her  mother 
began. 

"  Because  I  have  tried  to  make  my  life  a  horror  ? 
There  is  no  other  reason,  and  that  is  no  reason.  When 
we  go  into  Boston  this  winter  I  shall  go  to  the  thea- 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  235 

tre.  I  shall  go  to  the  opera,  and  I  hope  there  will 
be  a  ballet.  And  next  summer,  I  am  going  to  Eu- 
rope ;  I  am  going  to  Italy."  She  whirled  away  to- 
ward the  door  as  if  she  were  setting  out. 

"  I  should  think  you  had  taken  leave  of  your  con- 
science ! "  cried  her  mother. 

"  I  hope  I  have,  mother.  I  am  going  to  consult 
my  reason  after  this." 

"  Your  reason  ! " 

"  Well,  then,  my  inclination.  I  have  had  enough 
of  conscience,  —  of  my  own,  and  of  yours,  too.  That 
is  what  I  told  him,  and  that  is  what  I  mean.  There 
is  such  a  thing  as  having  too  much  conscience,  and 
of  getting  stupefied  by  it,  so  that  you  can 't  really  see 
what 's  right.  But  I  don't  care.  I  believe  I  should 
like  to  do  wrong  for  a  while,  and  I  will  do  wrong  if 
it 's  doing  right  to  marry  him." 

She  had  her  hand  on  the  door-knob,  and  now  she 
opened  the  door,  and  closed  if  after  her  with  some- 
thing very  like  a  bang. 

She  naturally  could  not  keep  within  doors  in  this 
explosive  state,  and  she  went  downstairs,  and  out 
upon  the  piazza.  Mr.  Maynard  was  there,  smoking, 
with  his  boots  on  top  of  the  veranda-rail,  and  his 
person  thrown  back  in  his  chair  at  the  angle  requi- 
site to  accomplish  this  elevation  of  the  feet.  He  took 


236  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

them  down,  as  he  saw  her  approach,  and  rose,  with 
the  respect  in  which  he  never  failed  for  women,  and 
threw  his  cigar  away. 

"  Mr.  Maynard,"  she  asked  abruptly,  "  do  you  know 
where  Mr.  Libby  is  ? " 

"  No,  I  don't,  doctor,  I  'm  sorry  to  say.  If  I  did, 
I  would  send  and  borrow  some  more  cigars  of  him. 
I  think  that  the  brand  our  landlord  keeps  must  have 
been  invented  by  Mr.  Trask,  the  great  anti-tobacco 
reformer." 

"  Is  he  coming  back  ?  Is  n't  he  coming  back  ?  "  she 
demanded  breathlessly. 

"Why,  yes,  I  reckon  he  must  be  coming  back. 
Libby  generally  sees  his  friends  through.  And  he  11 
have  some  curiosity  to  know  how  Mrs.  Maynard  and 
I  have  come  out  of  it  all."  He  looked  at  her  with 
something  latent  in  his  eye;  but  what  his  eye  ex- 
pressed was  merely  a  sympathetic  regret  that  he  could 
not  be  more  satisfactdty. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  suggested,  "  Mr.  Barlow  might  know 
something." 

"Well,  now,"  said  Maynard,  "perhaps  he  might, 
that  very  thing.  I  '11  go  round  and  ask  him."  He 
went  to  the  stable,  and  she  waited  for  his  return. 
"Barlow  says,"  he  reported,  "that  he  guesses  he's 
somewhere  about  Ley  den.  At  any  rate,  his  mare 's 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  237 

there  yet,  in  the  stable  where  Barlow  left  her.  He 
saw  her  there,  yesterday." 

"Thanks.  That's  all  I  wished  to  know,"  said 
Grace.  "  I  wished  to  write  to  him,"  she  added  boldly. 

She  shut  herself  in  her  room  and  spent  the  rest  of 
the  forenoon  in  writing  a  letter,  which  when  first 
finished  was  very  long,  but  in  its  ultimate  phase  was 
so  short  as  to  occupy  but  a  small  space  on  a  square 
correspondence-card.  Having  got  it  written  on  the 
card,  she  was  dissatisfied  with  it  in  that  shape,  and 
copied  it  upon  a  sheet  of  note-paper.  Then  she  sealed 
and  addressed  it,  and  put  it  into  her  pocket ;  after 
dinner  she  went  down  to  the  beach,  and  walked  a 
long  way  upon  the  sands.  She  thought  at  first  that 
she  would  ask  Barlow  to  get  it  to  him,  somehow ; 
and  then  she  determined  to  find  put  from  Barlow  the 
address  of  the  people  who  had  Mr.  Libby's  horse,  and 
send  it  to  them  for  him  by  the  driver  of  the  barge. 
She  would  approach  the  driver  with  a  nonchalant, 
imperious  air,  and  ask  him  to  please  have  that  de- 
livered to  Mr.  Libby  immediately;  and  in  case  he 
learned  from  the  stable-people  that  he  was  not  in 
Ley  den,  to  bring  the  letter  back  to  her.  She  saw 
how  the  driver  would  take  it,  and  then  she  figured 
Libby  opening  and  reading  it.  She  sometimes  figured 
him  one  way,  and  sometimes  another.  Sometimes  he 


238  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

rapidly  scanned  the  lines,  and  then  instantly  ordered 
his  horse,  and  feverishly  hastened  the  men  ;  again  he 
deliberately  read  it,  and  then  tore  it  into  small  pieces, 
with  a  laugh,  and  flung  them  away.  This  conception 
of  his  behavior  made  her  heart  almost  stop  beating ; 
but  there  was  a  luxury  in  it,  too,  and  she  recurred 
to  it  quite  as  often  as  to  the  other,  which  led  her  to 
a  dramatization  of  their  meeting,  with  all  their  parley 
minutely  realized,  and  every  most  intimate  look  and 
thought  imagined.  There  is  of  course  no  means  of 
proving  that  this  sort  of  mental  exercise  was  in  any 
degree  an  exercise  of  the  reason,  or  that  Dr.  Breen 
did  not  behave  unprofessionally  in  giving  herself  up 
to  it.  She  could  only  have  claimed  in  self-defence 
that  she  was  no  longer  aiming  at  a  professional  be- 
havior ;  that  she  was  in  fact  abandoning  herself  to  a 
recovered  sense  of  girlhood  and  all  its  sweetest  irre- 
sponsibilities. Those  who  would  excuse  so  weak  and 
capricious  a  character  may  urge,  if  they  like,  that  she 
was  behaving  as  wisely  as  a  young  physician  of  the 
other  sex  would  have  done  in  the  circumstances. 

She  concluded  to  remain  on  the  beach,  where  only 
the  children  were  playing  in  the  sand,  and  where  she 
could  easily  escape  any  other  companionship  that 
threatened.  After  she  had  walked  long  enough  to 
spend  the  first  passion  of  her  reveiy,  she  sat  down 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  239 

under  the  cliff,  and  presently  grew  conscious  of  his 
boat  swinging  at  anchor  in  its  wonted  place,  and 
wondered  that  she  had  not  thought  he  must  come 
back  for  that.  Then  she  had  a  mind  to  tear  up  her 
letter  as  superfluous  ;  but  she  did  not.  She  rose  from 
her  place  under  the  cliff,  and  went  to  look  for  the 
dory.  She  found  it  drawn  up  on  the  sand  in  a  little 
cove.  It  was  the  same  place,  and  the  water  was  so 
shoal  for  twenty  feet  out  that  no  one  could  have 
rowed  the  dory  to  land  ;  it  must  be  dragged  up.  She 
laughed  and  blushed,  and  then  boldly  amused  herself 
by  looking  for  footprints ;  but  the  tide  must  have 
washed  them  out  long  ago  ;  there  were  only  the  light, 
small  footprints  of  the  children  who  had  been  play- 
ing about  the  dory.  She  brushed  away  some  sand 
they  had  scattered  over  the  seat,  and  got  into  the 
boat  and  sat  down  there.  It  was  a  good  seat,  and 
commanded  a  view  of  the  sail-boat  in  the  foreground 
of  the  otherwise  empty  ocean ;  she  took  out  her  letter, 
and  let  it  lie  in  the  open  hands  which  she  let  lie  in 
her  lap. 

She  was  not  impatient  to  have  the  time  pass ;  it 
went  only  too  soon.  Though  she  indulged  that  luxury 
of  terror  in  imagining  her  letter  torn  up  and  scornfully 
thrown  away,  she  really  rested  quite  safe  as  to  the 
event ;  but  she  liked  this  fond  delay,  and  the  soft 


240  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

blue  afternoon  might  have  lasted  forever  to  her  entire 
content. 

A  little  whiff  of  breeze  stole  up,  and  suddenly 
caught  the  letter  from  her  open  hands,  and  whisked 
it  out  over  the  "sand.  With  a  cry  she  fled  after  it, 
and  when  she  had  recaptured  it,  she  thought  to  look 
at  her  watch.  It  was  almost  time  for  the  barge,  and 
now  she  made  such  needless  haste,  in  order  riot  to 
give  herself  chance  for  misgiving  or  retreat,  that  she 
arrived  too  soon  at  the  point  where  she  meant  to  inter- 
cept the  driver  on  his  way  to  the  house ;  for  in  her 
present  mutiny  she  had  resolved  to  gratify  a  little 
natural  liking  for  manoeuvre,  long  starved  by  the 
rigid  discipline  to  which  she  had  subjected  herself. 
She  had  always  been  awkward  at  it,  but  she  liked 
it ;  and  now  it  pleased  her  to  think  that  she  should 
give  her  letter  secretly  to  the  driver,  and  on  her  way 
to  meet  him  she  forgot  that  she  had  meant  to  ask 
Barlow  for  part  of  the  address.  She  did  not  remem- 
ber this  till  it  was  too  late  to  go  back  to  the  hotel, 
and  she  suddenly  resolved  not  to  consult  Barlow,  but 
to  let  the  driver  go  about  from  one  place  to  another 
with  the  letter  till  he  found  the  right  one.  She  kept 
walking  on  out  into  the  forest  through  which  the 
road  wound,  and  she  had  got  a  mile  away  before  she 
saw  the  weary  bowing  of  the  horses'  heads  as  they 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  241 

tugged  the  barge  through  the  sand  at  a  walk.  She 
stopped  involuntarily,  with  some  impulses  to  flight ; 
and  as  the  vehicle  drew  nearer,  she  saw  the  driver 
turned  round  upon  his  seat,  and  talking  to  a  passenger 
behind.  She  had  never  counted  upon  his  having  a 
passenger,  and  the  fact  undid  all. 

She  remained  helpless  in  the  middle  of  the  road ; 
the  horses  came  to  a  stand-still  a  few  paces  from  her, 
and  the  driver  ceased  from  the  high  key  of  conver- 
sation, and  turned  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

"  My  grief !  "  he  shouted.  "  If  it  had  n't  been  for 
them  horses  o'  mine,  I  sh'd  'a'  run  right  over  ye." 

"  I  wished  to  speak  with  you,"  she  began.  "  I 
wished  to  send  "  — 

She  stopped,  and  the  passenger  leaned  forward  to 
learn  what  was  going  on.  "  Miss  Breen ! "  he  ex- 
claimed, and  leaped  out  of  the  back  of  the  barge  and 
ran  to  her. 

"  You  —  you  got  my  letter  ! "  she  gasped. 

"  No  !  What  letter  ?  Is  there  anything  the  mat- 
ter?" 

She  did  not  answer.  She  had  become  conscious  of 
the  letter,  which  she  had  never  ceased  to  hold  in  the 
hand  that  she  had  kept  in  her  pocket  for  that  pur- 
pose. She  crushed  it  into  a  small  wad. 

Libby  turned  his  head,  and  said  to  the  driver  of  the 
16 


242  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

barge,  "  Go  ahead."   And,  "  Will  you  take  my  arm  ? " 

he  added  to  her.     "  It 's  heavy  walking  in  this  sand." 
"  No,  thank  you,"  she  murmured,  recoiling.  "  I  'm 

not  tired." 

"  Are  you  well  ?     Have  you  been  quite  well  ? " 
"  Oh,  yes,  perfectly.      I  did  n't  know   you    were 

coming  back." 

"  Yes.     I  had  to  come  back.     I  'm  going  to  Europe 

» 

next  week,  and  I  had  to  come  to  look  after  my  boat, 
here ;  and  I  wanted  to  say  good-by  to  Maynard.  I 
was  just  going  to  speak  to  Maynard,  and  then  sail 
my  boat  over  to  Leyden." 

"  It  will  be  very  pleasant,"  she  said,  without  look- 
ing at  him.  "  It-s  moonlight  now." 

"  Oh,  I  sha'n't  have  any  use  for  the  moon.  I  shall 
get  over  before  nightfall,  if  this  breeze  holds." 

She  tried  to  think  of  something  else,  and  to  get 
away  from  this  talk  of  a  sail  to  Leyden,  but  she 
fatally  answered,  "  I  saw  your  boat  this  afternoon.  I 

had  n't  noticed  before  that  it  was  still  here." 

»- 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  asked,  "  Did  you 
happen  to  notice  the  dory  ? " 

"  Yes,  it  was  drawn  up  on  the  sand." 

"  I  suppose  it 's  all  right  —  if  it 's  in  the  same 
place." 

"  It  seemed  to  be,"  she  answered  faintly. 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  243 

"  I  'm  going  to  give  the  boat  to  Johnson." 

She  did  not  say  anything,  for  she  could  think  of 
nothing  to  say,  but  that  she  had  looked  for  seals  on 
the  reef,  but  had  not  seen  any,  and  this  would  have 
been  too  shamelessly  leading.  That  left  the  word  to 
him,  and  he  asked  timidly,  — 

"  I  hope  my  coming  don't  seem  intrusive,  Miss 
Breen  ? " 

She  did  not  heed  this,  but  "  You  are  going  to  be 
gone  a  great  while  ? "  she  asked,  in  turn. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  in  an  uncertain  tone,  as 
if  troubled  to  make  out  whether  she  was  vexed  with 
him  or  not.  "  I  thought,"  he  added,  "  I  would  go  up 
the  Kile  this  time.  I've  never  been  up  the  Nile, 
you  know." 

"  No,  I  did  n't  know  that.  Well,"  she  added  to 
herself,  "  I  wish  you  had  not  come  back !  You  had 
better  not  have  come  Back.  If  you  hadn't  come, 
you  would  have  got  my  letter.  And  now  it  can 
never  be  done  !  No,  I  can't  go  through  it  all  again, 
and  no  one  has  the  right  to  ask  it.  We  have  missed 
the  only  chance,"  she  cried  to  herself,  in  such  keen 
reproach  of  him  that  she  thought  she  must  have 
spoken  aloud. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Maynard  all  right  again  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  she  is  very  much  better,"  she  answered,  con- 


244  DR.   BREED'S   PRACTICE. 

fusedly,  as  if  he  had  heard  her  reproach  and  had 
ignored  it. 

"  I  hope  you  're  not  so  tired  as  you  were." 

"  No,  I  'in  not  tired  now." 

"  I  thought  you  looked  a  little  pale,"  he  said  sym- 
pathetically, and  now  she  saw  that  he  was  so.  It 
irritated  her  that  she  should  be  so  far  from  him,  in  all 
helpfulness,  and  she  could  scarcely  keep  down  the 
wish  that  ached  in  her  heart. 

"We  are  never  nearer  doing  the  thing  we  long  to  do 
than  when  we  have  proclaimed  to  ourselves  that  it 
must  not  and  cannot  be. 

"  Why  are  you  so  pale  ? "  she  demanded,  almost 
angrily. 

"  I  ?  I  did  n't  know  that  I  was,"  he  answered. 
"  I  supposed  I  was  pretty  well.  I  dare  say  I  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  showing  it  in  that  way.  But  if  you 
ask  me,  well,  I  will  tell  you ;  I  don't  find  it  any 
easier  than  I  did  at  first.'' 

"  You  are  to  blame,  then  !  "  she  cried.  "  If  I  were 
a  man,  I  should  not  let  such  a  thing  wear  upon  me 
for  a  moment." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  I  shall  live  through  it,"  he  an- 
swered, with  the  national  whimsicality  that  conies  to 
our  aid  in  most  emergencies. 

A  little  pang  went  through  her  heart,  but  she  re- 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  245 

torted,  "  I  would  n't  go  to  Europe  to  escape  it,  nor 
up  the  Nile.  I  would  stay  and  fight  it  where  I  was." 

"  Stay  ? "  He  seemed  to  have  caught  hopefully  at 
the  word. 

"  I  thought  you  were  stronger.  If  you  give  up  in 
this  way  how  can  you  expect  me  "  —  She  stopped  ; 
she  hardly  knew  what  she  had  intended  to  say ;  she 
feared  that  he  knew. 

But  he  only  said :  "  I  'm  sorry.  I  did  n't  intend  to 
trouble  you  with  the  sight  of  me.  I  had  a  plan  for 
getting  over  the  cliff  without  letting  you  know,  and 
having  Maynard  come  down  to  me  there." 

"And  did  you  really  mean,"  she  cried  piteously8 
"  to  go  away  without  trying  to  see  me  again  ? " 

"  Yes,"  he  owned  simply.  "  I  thought  I  might 
catch  a  glimpse  of  you,  but  I  did  n't  expect  to  speak 
to  you." 

"  Did  you  hate  me  so  badly  as  that  ?  What  had  I 
done  to  you  ?  " 

"  Done  ?  "  He  gave  a  sorrowful  laugh  ;  and  added, 
with'  an  absent  air,  "  Yes,  it 's  really  like  doing  some- 
thing to  me  !  And  sometimes  it  seems  as  if  you  had 
done  it  purposely." 

"  You  know  I  did  n't !  Now,  then,"  she  cried,  "  you 
have  insulted  me,  and  you  never  did  that  before. 
You  were  very  good  and  noble  and  generous,  and 


246  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

would  n't  let  me  blame  myself  for  anything.  I  wanted 
always  to  remember  that  of  you;  for  I  didn't  believe 
that  any  man  could  be  so  magnanimous.  But  it 
seems  that  you  don't  care  to  have  me  respect  you ! " 

"Respect?"  he  repeated,  in  the  same  vague  way. 
"  No,  I  should  n't  care  about  that  unless  it  was  in- 
cluded in  the  other.  But  you  know  whether  I  have 
accused  you  of  anything,  or  whether  I  have  insulted 
you.  I  won't  excuse  myself.  I  think  that  ought  to 
be  insulting  to  your  common  sense." 

"  Then  why  should  you  have  wished  to  avoid  see- 
ing me  to-day  ?  Was  it  to  spare  yourself  ? "  she 
demanded,  quite  incoherently  now.  "  Or  did  you 
think  I  should  not  be  equal  to  the  meeting?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you,"  answered  the 
young  man.  "  I  think  I  must  be  crazy."  He  halted, 
and  looked  at  her  in  complete  bewilderment.  "I 
don't  understand  you  at  all." 

"  I  wished  to  see  you  very  much.  I  wanted  your 
advice,  as  —  as  —  a  friend."  He  shook  his  head. 
"  Yes  !  you  shall  be  my  friend,  in  this  at  least.  I 
can  claim  it  —  demand  it.  You  had  no  right  to  — 
to  —  make  me  —  trust  you  so  much,  and  —  and  — 
then  —  desert  me." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  he  answered.  "  If  any  advice  of 
mine  —  But  I  could  n't  go  through  that  sacrilegious 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  247 

farce  of  being  near  you  and  not "  —  She  waited 
breathlessly,  a  condensed  eternity,  for  him  to  go  on ; 
but  he  stopped  at  that  word,  and  added :  "  How  can 
I  advise  you  ? " 

The  disappointment  was  so  cruel  that  the  tears 
came  into  her  eyes  and  ran  down  her  face,  which  she 
averted  from  him.  When  she  could  control  herself 
she  said,  "I  have  an  opportunity  of  going  on  in  my 
profession  now,  in  a  way  that  makes  me  sure  of 
success." 

"I  am  very  glad  on  your  account.  You  must  be 
glad  to  realize  "  — 

"  No,  no  ! "  she  retorted  wildly.     "  I  am  not  glad ! " 

"I  thought  you"  — 

"  But  there  are  conditions  !  He  says  he  will  go 
with  me  anywhere,  and  we  can  practise  our  profession 
together,  and  I  can  carry  out  all  my  plans.  But  first 
—  first  —  he  wants  me  to  — marry  him ! " 

"Who?" 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  Dr.  Mulbridge  ! " 

"  That  —  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  Ve  no  right  to  call 
him  names."  The  young  fellow  halted,  and  looked 
at  her  downcast  face.  "  Well,  do  you  want  me  to  tell 
you  to  take  him  ?  That  is  too  much.  I  did  n't  know 
you  were  cruel." 

"  You  make  me  cruel !    You  leave  me  to  be  cruel ! " 


248  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  I  leave  you  to  be  cruel  ? " 

"  Oh,  don't  play  upon  my  words,  if  you  won't  ask 
me  what  I  answered ! " 

"  How  can  I  ask  that  ?     I  have  no  right  to  know." 

"  But  you  shall  know  ! "  she  cried.  "  I  told  him 
that  I  had  no  plans.  I  have  given  them  all  up  be- 
cause —  because  I  'm  too  weak  for  them,  and  because 
I  abhor  him,  and  because —  But  it  was  n't  enough. 
He  would  not  take  what  I  said  for  answer,  and  he  is 
coming  again  for  an  answer." 

"  Coming  again  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  is  a  man  who  believes  that  women  may 
change,  for  reason  or  no  reason ;  and  " — 

"  You  —  you  mean  to  take  him  when  he  comes 
back  ? "  gasped  the  young  man. 

"  Never !  Not  if  he  came  a  thousand  times  ! " 

"  Then  what  is  it  you  want  me  to  advise  you  about  ?" 
he  faltered. 

"Nothing!"  she  answered,  with  freezing  hauteur. 
She  suddenly  put  up  her  arms  across  her  eyes,  with 
the  beautiful,  artless  action  of  a  shame-srnitten  child, 
and  left  her  young  figure  in  bewildering  relief.  "  Oh, 
don't  you  see  that  I  love  you  ?  " 

"  Could  n't  you  understand,  —  could  n't  you  see 
what  I  meant  ? "  she  asked  again  that  night,  as  they 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  249 

lost  themselves  on  the  long  stretch  of  the  moonlit 
beach.  With  his  arm -close  about  that  lovely  shape 
they  would  have  seemed  but  one  person  to  the  inat- 
tentive observer,  as  they  paced  along  in  the  white 
splendor. 

"  I  could  n't  risk  anything.  I  had  spoken,  once  for 
all.  I  always  thought  that  for  a  man  to  offer  him- 
self twice  was  indelicate  and  unfair.  I  could  never 
have  done  it." 

"  That 's  very  sweet  in  you,"  she  said ;  and  perhaps 
she  would  have  praised  in  the  same  terms  the  pre- 
cisely opposite  sentiment.  "  It 's  some  comfort,"  she 
added,  with  a  deep-fetched  sigh,  "  to  think  I  had  to 
speak." 

He  laughed.  "  You  did  n't  find  it  so  easy  to  make 
love!" 

"  Oh,  nothing  is  easy  that  men  have  to  do ! "  she 
answered,  with  passionate  earnestness. 

There  are  moments  of  extreme  concession,  of  mag- 
nanimous admission,  that  come  but  once  in  a  life- 
time. 


250  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 


XII. 


DR.  MULBRIDGE  did  not  wait  for  the  time  he  had 
fixed  for  his  return.  He  may  have  judged  that  her 
tendency  against  him  would  strengthen  by  delay,  or 
he  may  have  yielded  to  his  own  impatience  in  coming 
the  next  day.  He  asked  for  Grace  with  his  wonted 
abruptness,  and  waited  for  her  coming  in  the  little 
parlor  of  the  hotel,  walking  up  and  down  the  floor, 
with  his  shaggy  head  bent  forward,  and  his  big  hands 
clasped  behind  him. 

As  she  hovered  at  the  door  before  entering,  she 
could  watch  him  while  he  walked  the  whole  room's 
length  away,  and  she  felt  a  pang  at  sight  of  him.  If 
she  could  have  believed  that  he  loved  her,  she  could 
not  have  faced  him,  but  must  have  turned  and  run 
away ;  and  even  as  it  was  she  grieved  for  himr  Such 
a  man  would  not  have  made  up  his  mind  to  this  step 
without  a  deep  motive,  if  not  a  deep  feeling.  Her 
heart  had  been  softened  so  that  she  could  not  think 
of  frustrating  his  ambition,  if  it  were  no  better  than 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  251 

that,  without  pity.  One  man  had  made  her  feel  very 
kindly  toward  all  other  men ;  she  wished  in  the 
tender  confusion  of  the  moment  that  she  need  not 
reject  her  importunate  suitor,  whose  importunity  even 
she  could  not  resent. 

He  caught  sight  of  her  as  soon  as  he  made  his  turn 
at  the  end  of  the  room,  and  with  a  quick  "  Ah ! "  he 
hastened  to  meet  her,  with  the  smile  in  which  there 
was  certainly  something  attractive.  "You  see  I've 
come  back  a  day  sooner  than  I  promised.  I  have  n't 
the  sort  of  turnout  you  've  been  used  to,  but  I  want 
you  to  drive  with  me." 

"I  can't  drive  with  you,  Dr.  Mulbridge,"  she 
faltered. 

"  Well,  walk,  then.     I  should  prefer  to  walk." 

"You  must  excuse  me,"  she  answered,  and  re- 
mained standing  before  him. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  bade  her,  and  pushed  up  a  chair 
towards  her.  His  audacity,  if  it  had  been  a  finer 
courage,  would  have  been  splendid,  and  as  it  was  she 
helplessly  obeyed  him,  as  if  she  were  his  patient, 
and  must  do  so.  "  If  I  were  superstitious  I  should 
say  that  you  receive  me  ominously,"  he  said,  fixing 
his  gray  eyes  keenly  upon  her. 

"I  do ! "  she  forced  herself  to  reply.  " I  wish  you 
had  not  come." 


252  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

"  That 's  explicit,  at  any  rate.  Have  you  thought 
it  over  ? " 

"  No ;  I  had  no  need  to  do  that,  I  had  fully  re- 
solved when  I  spoke  yesterday.  Dr.  Mulbridge,  why 
did  n't  you  spare  me  this  ?  It 's  unkind  of  you  to 
insist,  after  what  I  said.  You  know  that  I  must 
hate  to  repeat  it.  I  do  value  you  so  highly  in  some 
ways  that  I  blame  you  for  obliging  me  to  hurt  you  — 
if  it  does  hurt  —  by  telling  you  again  that  I  don't 
love  you." 

He  drew  in  a  long  breath,  and  set  his  teeth  hard 
upon  his  lip.  "  You  may  depend  upon  its  hurting," 
he  said,  "  but  I  was  glad  to  risk  the  pain,  whatever 
it  was,  for  the  chance  of  getting  you  to  reconsider. 
I  presume  I  'm  not  the  conventional  wooer.  I  'm  too 
old  for  it,  and  I  'm  too  blunt  and  plain  a  man.  I  Ve 
been  thirty-five  years  making  up  my  mind  to  ask 
you  to  marry  me.  You  're  the  first  woman,  and  you 
shall  be  the  last.  You  could  n't  suppose  I  was  going 
to  give  you  up  for  one  no  ? " 

"  You  had  better." 

"  Not  for  twenty  !  I  can  understand  very  well 
how  you  never  thought  of  me  in  this  way  ;  but 
there  's  no  reason  why  you  should  n't.  Come,  it 's  a 
matter  that  we  can  reason  about,  like  anything  else." 

"  No.    I  told  you,  it 's  something  we  can't  reason 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  253 

about.  Or  yes,  it  is.  I  will  reason  with  you.  You 
say  that  you  love  mo  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  If  you  did  n't  love  me,  you  would  n't  ask  me  to 
marry  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  how  can  you  expect  me  to  marry  you  with- 
out loving  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't.  All  that  I  ask  is  that  you  won't  refuse 
me.  I  know  that  you  can  love  me." 

"  No,  no,  never  ! " 

"  And  I  only  want  you  to  take  time  to  try." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  try.  If  you  persist,  I  must  leave 
the  room.  We  had  better  part.  I  was  foolish  to  see 
you.  But  I  thought  —  I  was  sorry  —  I  hoped  to 
make  it  less  unkind  to  you  "  — 

"  In  spite  of  yourself,  you  were  relenting." 

"Not  at  all!" 

"But  if  you  pitied  me,  you  did  care  for  me  a 
little?" 

"  You  know  that  I  had  the  highest  respect  for  you 
as  a  physician.  I  tell  you  that  you  were  my  ideal 
in  that  way,  and  I  will  tell  you  that  if"  —  she 
stopped,  and  he  continued  for  her. 

"  If  you  had  not  resolved  to  give  it  up,  you  might 
have  done  what  I  asked." 


254  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

"  I  did  not  say  that,"  she  answered  indignantly. 

"  But  why  do  you  give  it  up  ? " 

"  Because  I  am  not  equal  to  it." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  ?    Who  told  you  ?  " 

"  You  have  told  me,  —  by  every  look  and  act  of 
yours,  —  and  I  'm  grateful  to  you  for  it." 

"And  if  I  told  you  now  by  word  that  you  were 
fit  for  it "  - 

"  I  should  n't  believe  you." 

"  You  would  n't  believe  my  word  ? "  She  did  not 
answer.  "  I  see,"  he  said  presently,  "  that  you  doubt 
me  somehow  as  a  man.  What  is  it  you  think  of  me  ? " 

"  You  would  n't  like  to  know." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  should." 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you.  I  think  you  are  a  tyrant, 
and  that  you  want  a  slave,  not  a  wife.  You  wish  to 
be  obeyed.  You  despise  women.  I  don't  mean  their 
minds,  —  they  're  despicable  enough,  in  most  cases,  as 
men's  are,  —  but  their  nature." 

"  This  is  news  to  me,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  I  never 
knew  that  I  despised  women's  nature." 

"  It 's  true,  whether  you  knew  it  or  not." 

"  Do  I  despise  you  ? " 

"  You  would,  if  you  saw  that  I  was  afraid  of  you. 
Oh,  why  do  you  force  me  to  say  such  things  ?  Why 
don't  you  spare  me  —  spare  yourself  ? " 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  255 

"  In  this  cause  I  could  n't  spare  myself.  I  can't 
bear  to  give  you  up !  I  'm  what  I  am,  whatever  you 
say ;  but  with  you,  I  could  be  whatever  you  would. 
I  could  show  you  that  you  are  wrong  if  you  gave  me 
the  chance.  I  know  that  I  could  make  you  happy. 
Listen  to  me  a  moment." 

"  It 's  useless." 

"  No  !  If  you  have  taken  the  trouble  to  read  me 
in  this  way,  there  must  have  been  a  time  when  you 
might  have  cared  "  — 

"  There  never  was  any  such  time.  I  read  you  from 
the  first." 

"  I  will  go  away,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  in  which 
she  had  risen,  and  began  a  retreat  towards  the  door. 
"  But  I  will  not  —  I  cannot  —  give  you  up.  I  will 
see  you  again." 

"  No,  sir.  You  shall  not  see  me  again.  I  will 
not  submit  to  it.  I  will  not  be  persecuted."  She 
was  trembling,  and  she  knew  that  he  saw  her 
tremor. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  that  recognized  her 
trepidation,  "  I  will  not  persecute  you.  1 11  renounce 
these  pretensions.  But  I  '11  ask  you  to  see  me  once 
more,  as  a  friend,  —  an  acquaintance." 

"  I  will  not  see  you  again." 

"  You  are  rather  hard  with  me,  I  think,"  he  urged 


256  .  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

gently.  "  I  don't  think  1  'm  playing  the  tyrant  with 
you  now." 

"  You  are,  —  the  baffled  tyrant." 

"  But  if  I  promised  not  to  offend  again,  why  should 
you  deny  me  your  acquaintance  ?  " 

"  Because  I  don't  believe  you."  She  was  getting 
nearer  the  door,  and  as  she  put  her  hand  behind  her 
and  touched  the  knob,  the  wild  terror  she  had  felt, 
lest  he  should  reach  it  first  and  prevent  her  escape, 
left  her.  "You  are  treating  me  like  a  child  that 
does  n't  know  its  own  mind,  or  has  none  to  know. 
You  are  laughing  at  me — playing  with  me;  you 
have  shown  me  that  you  despise  me." 

He  actually  laughed.  "  Well,  you  've  shown 
that  you  are  not  afraid  of  me.  Why  are  you  not 
afraid  ? " 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  and  she  dealt  the  blow 
now  without  pity,  "  I  'm  engaged,  —  engaged  to  Mr. 
Libby ! "  She  whirled  about  and  vanished  through 
the  door,  ashamed,  indignant,  fearing  that  if  she  had 
not  fled,  he  would  somehow  have  found  means  to 
make  his  will  prevail  even  yet. 

He  stood,  stupefied,  looking  at  the  closed  door,  and 
he  made  a  turn  or  two  about  the  room  before  he 
summoned  intelligence  to  quit  it.  When  death  itself 
comes,  the  sense  of  continuance  is  not  at  once 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  257 

broken  in  the  survivors.  In  these  moral  deaths, 
which  men  survive  in  their  own  lives,  there  is  no 
immediate  consciousness  of  an  end.  For  a  while, 
habit  and  the  automatic  tendency  of  desire  cany 
them  on. 

He  drove  back  to  Corbitant  perched  on  the  rickety 
seat  of  his  rattling  open  buggy,  and  bowed  forward 
as  his  wont  was,  his  rounded  shoulders  bringing  his 
chin  well  over  the  dashboard.  As  he  passed  down 
the  long  sandy  street,  toward  the  corner  where  his 
own  house  stood,  the  brooding  group  of  loafers,  wait- 
ing in  Hackett's  store  for  the  distribution  of  the  mail, 
watched  him  through  the  open  door,  and  from  under 
the  boughs  of  the  weather-beaten  poplar  before  it. 
Hackett  had  been  cutting  a  pound  of  cheese  out  of 
the  thick  yellow  disk  before  him,  for  the  Widow  Hoi- 
man,  and  he  stared  at  the  street  after  Mulbridge 
passed,  as  if  his  mental  eye  had  halted  him  there  for 
the  public  consideration,  while  he  leaned  over  the 
counter,  and  held  by  the  point  the  long  knife  with 
which  he  had  cut  the  cheese. 

"I  see  some  the  folks  from  over  to  Jocelyn's,  yist'- 
d'y,"  he  said,  in  a  spasm  of  sharp,  crackling  speech, 
"  and  they  seemed  to  think 't  Mis'  Mulbridge  'd  got  to 
step  round  pretty  spry  'f  she  did  n't  want  another  the 
same  name  in  the  house  with  her." 

17 


258  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

A  long  silence  followed,  in  which  no  one  changed 
in  any  wise  the  posture  in  which  he  found  himself 
when  Hackett  began  to  speak.  Cap'n  George  Wray, 
tilted  back  against  the  wall  in  his  chair,  continued  to 
stare  at  the  store-keeper ;  Cap'n  Jabez  Wray  did  not 
look  up  from  whittling  the  chair  between  his  legs ; 
their  cousin,  Cap'n  Wray  Storrell,  seated  on  a  nail- 
keg  near  the  stove,  went  on  fretting  the  rust  on  the 
pipe  with  the  end  of  a  stiff,  cast-off  envelope ;  two 
other  captains,  more  or  less  akin  to  them,  continued 
their  game  of  checkers;  the  Widow  Seth  Wray's 
boy  rested  immovable,  with  his  chin  and  hand  on  the 
counter,  where  he  had  been  trying  since  the  Widow 
Holman  went  out  to  catch  Hackett's  eye  and  buy  a 
corn-ball.  Old  Cap'n  Billy  Wray  was  the  first  to 
break  the  spell.  He  took  his  cigar  from  his  mouth, 
and  held  it  between  his  shaking  thumb  and  forefinger, 
while  he  pursed  his  lips  for  speech.  "  Jabez,"  he  said, 
"  did  Cap'n  Sam'l  git  that  coalier  ? " 

"No,"  answered  the  whittler,  cutting  deeper  into 
his  chair,  "  she  did  n't  signal  for  him  till  she  got  into 
the  channel,  and  then  he  'd  got  a  couple  o'  passengers 
for  Leyden ;  and  Cap'ri  Jim  brought  her  up." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Cap'n  Billy,  with  a  stiff  yet 
tremulous  reference  of  himself  to  the  storekeeper, "  as 
spryuess  would  help  her,  as  long  as  he  took  the  no- 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  259 

tion.  I  guess  he 's  master  of  his  own  ship.  Who 's 
he  going  to  marry  ?  The  grahs-widow  got  well 
enough  ? " 

"  No.  As  I  understand,"  crackled  the  store-keeper, 
"  her  husband 's  turned  up.  Folks  over  there  seem  to 
think 't  he 's  got  his  eye  on  the  other  doctor." 

"  Going  to  marry  with  her,  hey  ?  Well,  if  either  of 
'em  gets  sick  they  won't  have  to  go  far  for  advice,  and 
they  won't  have  any  doctor's  bills  to  pay.  Still,  I 
should  n't  ha'  picked  out  just  that  kind  of  a  wife  for 
him." 

"  As  I  understand,"  the  storekeeper  began ;  but  here 
he  caught  sight  of  Widow  Seth  Wray's  boy,  and 
asked,  "  What 's  wanted,  Bub  ?  Corn-ball  ? "  and  turn- 
ing to  take  that  sweetmeat  from  the  shelf  behind  him 
he  added  the  rest  in  the  mouth  of  the  hollowly  rever- 
berating jar,  "  She 's  got  prop'ty." 

"  Well,  I  never  knew  a  Mulbridge  yet 't  objected  to 
prop'ty,  —  especially  other  folks's." 

"  Barlow  he  's  tellin'  round  that  she  's  very  fine  ap- 
pearin'."  He  handed  the  corn-ball  to  Widow  Seth 
Wray's  boy,  who  went  noiselessly  out  on  his  bare 
feet. 

Cap'n  Billy  drew  several  long  breaths.  When 
another  man  might  have  been  supposed  to  have  dis- 
missed the  subject  he  said,  "  Well,  I  never  knew  a 


260  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

Mulbridge  that  objected  to  good  looks  in  women  folks. 
They  Ve  all  merried  hahnsome  wives,  ever  since  the 
old  gentleman  set  'em  the  example  with  his  second 
one.  They  got  their  own  looks  from  the  first.  Well," 
he  added, "  I  hope  she 's  a  tough  one.  She 's  got  either 
to  bend  or  to  break." 

"They  say,"  said  Cap'n  George  Wray,  like  one 
rising  from  the  dead  to  say  it,  so  dumb  and  motion- 
less had  he  been  till  now,  "  that  Mis'  Mulbridge  was 
too  much  for  the  old  doctor." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  Cap'n  Billy  replied, 
"  but  I  guess  her  son 's  too  much  for  her :  she 's 
only  Gardiner,  and  he's  Gardiner  and  Mulbridge 
both." 

No  one  changed  countenance,  but  a  sense  of  Cap'n 
Billy's  wit  sparely  yet  satisfyingly  glimmered  from 
the  eyes  of  Cap'n  George  and  the  storekeeper,  and 
Cap'n  Jabez  closed  his  knife  with  a  snap  and  looked 
up.  "  Perhaps,"  he  suggested,  "  she 's  seen  enough  of 
him  to  know  beforehand  that  there  would  be  too 
much  of  him." 

"I  never  rightly  understood,"  said  Hackett,  "just 
what  it  was  about  him,  there  in  the  army  —  coming 
out  a  year  beforehand,  that  way." 

"  I  guQss  you  never  will,  —  from  him,"  said  Cap'n 
Jabez. 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  261 

"  Laziness,  I  guess, — too  much  work,"  said  old  Cap'n 
Billy.  "  What  he  wants  is  a  wife  with  money. 
There  ain't  a  better  doctor  anywhere.  I  've  heard  't 
up  to  Boston,  where  he  got  his  manifest,  they 
thought  everything  of  him.  He's  smart  enough, 
but  he 's  lazy,  and  he  always  was  lazy,  and  harder  'n 
a  nut.  He 's  a  curious  mixtur'.  'N'  I  guess  he 's 
been  on  the  lookout  for  somethin'  of  this  kind  ever 
sence  he  begun  practising  among  the  summer  board- 
ers. Guess  he 's  had  an  eye  out." 

"  They  say  he 's  poplar  among  'em,"  observed  the 
storekeeper  thoughtfully. 

"  He 's  been  pooty  p'tic'lar,  or  they  have,"  said  Cap'n 
Jabez. 

"Well,  most  on  'em's  merried  women,"  Hacketb 
urged.  "  It 's  astonishin'  how  they  do  come  off  and 
leave  their  husbands,  the  whole  summer  long.  They 
say  they  're  all  out  o'  health,  though." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  old  Cap'n  Billy,  "  if  them  coaliers 
is  goin'  to  make  a  settled  thing  of  haulin'  inside  be- 
fore they  signal  a  pilot." 

"  I  know  one  thing,"  answered  Cap'n  Jabez,  "  that  if 
any  coalier  signals  me  in  the  channel,  I  '11  see  her  in 
hell  first."  He  slipped  his  smooth,  warm  knife  into 
his  pocket,  and  walked  out  of  the  store  amid  a  gen- 
eral silence. 


262  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

"  He 's  consid'ble  worked  up,  about  them  coaliers," 
said  old  Cap'n  Billy.  "  I  don't  know  as  I  've  heard 
Jabez  swear  before  —  not  since  he  was  mate  of  the 
Gallatin.  He  used  to  swear  then,  consid'able." 

"  Them  coaliers  is  enough  to  make  any  one  swear," 
said  Cap'n  George.  "  If  it 's  any  ways  fair  weather 
they  won't  take  you  outside,  and  they  cut  you  down 
from  twenty-five  dollars  to  two  dollars  if  they  take 
you  inside." 

Old  Cap'n  Billy  did  not  answer  before  he  had 
breathed  awhile,  and  then,  having  tried  his  cigar  and 
found  it  out,  he  scraped  a  match  on  his  coat-sleeve. 
He  looked  at  the  flame  while  it  burned  from  blue  to 
yellow.  "Well,  I  guess  if  anybody's  been  p'tic'lar, 
it 's  been  him.  There  ain't  any  doubt  but  what  he  's 
got  a  takin'  way  with  the  women.  They  like  him. 
He  's  masterful,  and  he  ain't  a  fool,  and  women  most 
gen'ly  like  a  man  that  ain't  a  fool.  I  guess  if  he  's 
got  his  eye  on  the  girl's  prop'ty,  she  '11  have  to  come 
along.  He  'd  begin  by  havin'  his  own  way  about  her 
answer  ;  he  'd  hang  on  till  she  said  Yes,  if  she  did  n't 
say  it  first-off ;  and  he  'd  keep  on  as  he  'd  begun.  I 
guess  if  he  wants  her  it's  a  match."  And  Cap'n 
Billy  threw  his  own  into  the  square  box  of  tobacco- 
stained  sawdust  under  the  stove. 

Mrs.   Maynard   fully   shared    the    opinion   which 


DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE.  263 

mocked  Dr.  Mulbridge's  defeat  with  a  belief  in  his  in- 
vincible will.  When  it  became  necessary,  in  the  course 
of  events  which  made  Grace  and  Libby  resolve  upon 
a  short  engagement,  to  tell  her  that  they  were  going  to 
be  married,  she  expressed  a  frank  astonishment. 
"  Walter  Libby  !  "  she  cried.  "  Well,  I  am  surprised. 
When  I  was  talking  to  you  the  other  day  about 
getting  married,  of  course  I  supposed  it  was  going  to 
be  Dr.  Mulbridge.  I  did  n't  want  you  to  marry  him, 
but  I  thought  you  were  going  to." 

"  And  why,"  demanded  Grace,  with  mounting  sen- 
sation, "  did  you  think  that  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you  would  have  to." 

"Have  to?" 

"  Oh,  you  have  such  a  weak  will.  ~  Or  I  always 
thought  you  had.  But  perhaps  it 's  only  a  weak 
will  with  other  women.  /  don't  know !  But  Wal- 
ter Libby  !  I  knew  he  was  perfectly  gone  upon  you, 
and  I  told  you  so  at  the  beginning;  but  I  never 
dreamt  of  your  caring  for  him.  Why,  it  seems  too 
ridiculous." 

"  Indeed  !  I  'm  glad  that  it  amuses  you." 

"  Oh  no,  you  're  not,  Grace.  But  you  know  what 
I  mean.  He  seems  so  much  younger." 

"  Younger  ?  He  's  half  a  year  older  than  I 
am." 


264  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

"  I  did  n't  say  lie  was  younger.  But  you  're  so 
very  grave  and  he  's  so  very  light.  Well,  I  always 
told  Walter  Libby  I  should  get  him  a  wife,  but  you 
were  the  last  person  I  should  have  thought  of. 
What 's  going  to  become  of  all  your  high  purposes  ? 
You  can't  do  anything  with  them  when  you  're  mar- 
ried !  But  you  won't  have  any  occasion  for  them, 
that 's  one  comfort." 

"  It 's  not  my  idea  of  marriage  that  any  high  pur- 
pose will  be  lost  in  it." 

"  Oil,  it  is  n't  anybody's,  before  they  get  married. 
1  had  such  high  purposes  I  couldn't  rest.  I  felt 
like  hiring  a  hall,  as  George  says,  all  the  time. 
Walter  Libby  is  n't  going  to  let  you  practise,  is  he  ? 
You  must  n't  let  him  !  I  know  he  'd  be  willing  to 
do  anything  you  said,  but  a  husband  ought  to  be 
something  more  than  a  mere  &  Co." 

Grace  laughed  at  the  impudent  cynicism  of  all  this, 
for  she  was  too  happy  to  be  vexed  with  any  one  just 
then.  "  I  'm  glad  you  've  come  to  think  so  well  of 
husbands'  rights  at  last,  Louise,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Maynard  took  the  little  puncture  in  good 
part.  "  Oh,  yes,  George  and  I  have  had  a  good  deal 
of  light  let  in  on  us.  I  don't  suppose  my  character 
was  much  changed  outwardly  in  my  sickness,"  she 
suggested. 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  A  265 

"  It  was  riot"  answered  Grace  warmly.  " It  was 
intensified,  that  was  all." 

Mrs.  Maynard  laughed  in  her  turn,  with  real  enjoy- 
ment of  the  conception.  "  Well,  I  was  n't  going  to 
let  on,  unless  it  came  to  the  worst;  I  didn't  say 
much,  but  I  kept  up  an  awful  thinking.  It  would 
have  "been  easy  enough  to  get  a  divorce,  and  George 
would  n't  have  opposed  it ;  but  I  looked  at  it  in 
this  way :  that  the  divorce  would  n't  have  put  us 
back  where  we  were,  anyway,  as  I  had 'supposed  it 
would.  We  had  broken  into  each  other's  lives,  and 
we  couldn't  get  out  again,  with  all  the  divorces  under 
the  sun.  That 's  the  worst  of  getting  married  :  you 
break  into  each  other's  lives.  You  said  something 
like  it  to  me,  that  day  when  you  came  back  from 
your  sail  with  Walter  Libby.  And  I  just  concluded 
that  there  could  n't  be  any  trial  that  would  n't  be  a 
great  deal  easier  to  bear  than  getting  rid  of  all  your 
trials ;  and  I  just  made  up  my  mind  that  if  any  di- 
vorce was  to  be  got,  George  Maynard  might  get  it 
himself;  a  temporary  separation  was  bad  enough  for 
me,  and  I  told  him  so,  about  the  first  words  I  could 
speak.  And  we  're  going  to  try  the  new  departure 
on  that  platform.  We  don't  either  of  us  expect  we 
can  have  things  perfectly  smooth,  but  we  've  agreed 
to  rough  it  together  when  we  can't.  We  Ve  found 


266  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

out  that  we  can't  marry  and  then  become  single,  any 
more  than  we  could  die  and  come  to  life  again.  And 
don't  you  forget  it,  Grace !  You  don't  half  know 
yourself,  now.  You  know  what  you  have  been ;  but 
getting  married  lets  loose  all  your  possibilities.  You 
don't  know  what  a  temper  you  've  got,  nor  how  badly 
you  can  behave  —  how  much  like  a  naughty,  good- 
for-nothing  little  girl;  for  a  husband  and  wife  are 
just  two  children  together:  that's  what  makes  the 
sweetness  of  it,  and  that 's  what  makes  the  dreadful- 
ness.  Oh,  you'll  have  need  of  all  your  good  prin- 
ciples, I  can  tell  you,  and  if  you've  a  mind  to  do 
anything  practical  in  the  way  of  high  purposes,  I 
•reckon  there  '11  be  use  for  them  all." 

Another  lady  who  was  astonished  at  Grace's  choice 
was  more  incurably  disappointed  and  more  grieved 
for  the  waste  of  those  noble  aims  with  which  her 
worshipping  fancy  had  endowed  the  girl  even  more 
richly  than  her  own  ambition.  It  was  Grace's  wish 
to  pass  a  year  in  Europe  before  her  husband  should 
settle  down  in  charge  of  his  mills ;  and  their  engage- 
ment, marriage,  and  departure  followed  so  swiftly 
upon  one  another,  that  Miss  Gleason  would  have  had 
no  opportunity  to  proffer  remonstrance  or  advice. 
She  could  only  account  for  Grace's  course  on  the 
theory  that  Dr.  Mulbridge  had  failed  to  offer  himself; 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  267 

but  this  explained  her  failure  to  marry  him,  without 
explaining  her  marriage  with  Mr.  Libby.  That  re- 
mained for  some  time  a  mystery,  for  Miss  Gleason 
firmly  refused  to  believe  that  such  a  girl  could  be  in 
love  with  a  man  so  much  her  inferior  :  the  conception 
disgraced  not  only  her  idol,  but  cast  shame  upon  all 
other  women,  whose  course  in  such  matters  is  noto- 
riously governed  by  motives  of  the  highest  sagacity 
and  judgment. 

Mrs.  Breen  hesitated  between  the  duty  of  accom- 
panying the  young  couple  on  their  European  travels, 
and  that  of  going  to  the  village  where  Libby's  mills 
were  situated,  in  southern  New  Hampshire.  She 
was  not  strongly  urged  to  a  decision  by  her  children, 
and  she  finally  chose  the  latter  course.  The  mill 
property  had  been  a  long  time  abandoned  before  Lib- 
by's father  bought  it,  and  put  it  in  a  repair  which 
he  did  not  hasten  to  extend  to  the  village.  This  had 
remained  in  a  sort  of  picturesque  neglect,  which  har- 
monized with  the  scenery  of  the  wild  little  valley 
where  it  nestled ;  and  Mrs.  Breen  found,  upon  the 
vigorous  inquiry  which  she  set  on  foot,  that  the  oper- 
atives were  deplorably  destitute  of  culture  and  drain- 
age. She  at  once  devoted  herself  to  the  establishment 
of  a  circulating  library  and  an  enlightened  system  of 
cess-pools,  to  such  an  effect  of  ingratitude  in  her  ben- 


268  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

eficiaries  that  she  was  quite  ready  to  remand. them  to 
their  former  squalor  when  her  son-in-law  returned. 
But  he  found  her  work  all  so  good  that  he  mediated 
between  her  and  the  inhabitants,  and  adopted  it  with 
a  hearty  appreciation  that  went  far  to  console  her, 
and  finally  popularized  it.  In  fact,  he  entered  into 
the  spirit  of  all  practical  reforms  with  an  energy  and 
intelligence  that  quite  reconciled  her  to  him.  It  was 
rather  with  Grace  than  with  him  that  she  had  fault 
to  find.  She  believed  that  the  girl  had  returned  from 
Europe  materialized  and  corrupted ;  and  she  regarded 
the  souvenirs  of  travel  with  which  the  house  was 
filled  as  so  many  tokens  of  moral  decay.  It  is  unde- 
niable that  Grace  seemed  for  a  time  to  have  softened 
to  a  certain  degree  of  self-indulgence.  During  the 
brief  opera  season  the  first  winter  after  her  return,  she 
spent  a  week  in  Boston ;  she  often  came  to  the  city, 
and  went  to  the  theatres  and  the  exhibitions  of  pic- 
tures. It  was  for  some  time  Miss  Gleason's  opinion 
that  these  escapades  were  the  struggles  of  a  magnani- 
mous nature,  unequally  mated,  to  forget  itself.  When 
they  met  she  indulged  the  habit  of  regarding  Mrs. 
Libby  with  eyes  of  latent  pity,  till  one  day  she  heard 
something  that  gave  her  more  relief  than  she  could 
ever  have  hoped  for.  This  was  the  fact,  perfectly  as- 
certained by  some  summer  sojourners  in  the  neigh- 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  269 

borhood,  that  Mrs.vLibby  was  turning  her  professional 
training  to  account  by  treating  the  sick  children 
among  her  husband's  operatives. 

In  the  fall  Miss  Gleason  saw  her  heroine  at  an 
exhibition  of  pictures.  She  rushed  across  the  main 
hall  of  the  Museum  to  greet  her.  "  Congratulate 
you ! "  she  deeply  whispered,  "  on  realizing  your 
dream !  Now  you  are  happy,  now  you  can  be  at 
peace  !  " 

"  Happy  ?     At  peace  ? " 

"  In  the  good  work  you  have  taken  up.  Oh.  noth- 
ing, under  Gawd,  is  lost ! "  she  exclaimed,  getting 
ready  to  run  away,  and  speaking  with  her  face  turned 
over  her  shoulder  towards  Mrs.  Libby. 

"  Dream  ?     Good  work  ?     What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  Those  factory  children  ! " 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Mrs.  Libby  coldly,  "  that  was  my  hus- 
band's idea." 

"  Your  husband's ! "  cried  Miss  Gleason,  facing 
about  again,  and  trying  to  let  a  whole  history  of 
suddenly  relieved  anxiety  speak  in  her  eyes. 
"How  happy  you  make  me!  Do  let  me  thank 
you !" 

In  the  effort  to  shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Libby  she 
knocked  the  catalogue  out  of  her  hold,  and  vanished 
in  the  crowd  without  knowing  it.  Some  gentleman 


270  DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE. 

picked  it  up,  and  gave  it  to  her  again,  with  a  bow  of 
burlesque  devotion. 

Mrs.  Libby  flushed  tenderly.  "I  might  have  known 
it  would  be  you,  Walter.  Where  did  you  spring 
from  ? " 

"  I  Ve  been  here  ever  since  you  came." 

"  What  in  the  world  doing  ? " 

"  Oh,  enjoying  myself." 

"  Looking  at  the  pictures  ? " 

"  Watching  you  walk  round." 

"  I  thought  you  could  n't  be  enjoying  the  pictures/' 
she  said  simply.  "  I  'm  not." 

She  was  not  happy,  indeed,  in  any  of  the  aesthetic 
dissipations  into  which  she  had  plunged,  and  it  was 
doubtless  from  a  shrewder  knowledge  of  her  nature 
than  she  had  herself  that  her  husband  had  proposed 
this  active  usefulness,  which  she  once  intended  under 
such  different  conditions.  At  the  end  of  the  ends 
she  was  a  Puritan ;  belated,  misdated,  if  the  reader 
will,  and  cast  upon  good  works  for  the  consolation 
which  the  Puritans  formerly  found  in  a  creed.  Riches 
and  ease  were  sinful  to  her,  and  somehow  to  be 
atoned  for;  and  she  had  no  real  love  for  anything  that 
was  not  of  an  immediate  humane  and  spiritual  effect. 
Under  the  shelter  of  her  husband's  name  the  benevo- 
lent use  of  her  skill  was  no  queerer  than  the  charity 


DR.   BREEN'S   PRACTICE.  271 

to-  which  many  ladies  devote  themselves ;  though  they 
are  neither  of  them  people  to  have  felt  the  anguish 
which  comes  from  the  fear  of  what  other  people  will 
think.  They  go  their  way  in  life,  and  are  probably 
not  disturbed  by  any  misgivings  concerning  them. 
It  is  thought,  on  one  hand,  that  he  is  a  man  of  ex- 
cellent head,  and  of  a  heart  so  generous  that  his  def- 
erence to  her  in  certain  matters  is  part  of  the  devoted 
flattery  which  would  spoil  any  other  woman,  but  that 
she  consults  his  judgment  in  every  action  of  her  life, 
and  trusts  his  sense  with  the  same  completeness  that 
she  trusts  his  love.  On  the  other  hand,  when  it  is 
felt  that  she  ought  to  have  done  for  the  sake  of 
woman  what  she  could  not  do  for  herself,  she  is  re- 
garded as  sacrificed  in  her  marriage.  If,  it  is  feared, 
she  is  not  infatuated  with  her  husband,  she  is  in  a 
disgraceful  subjection,  without  the  hope  of  better  or 
higher  things.  If  she  had  children,  they  might  be  a 
compensation  and  refuge  for  her ;  in  that  case,  to  be 
sure,  she  must  be  cut  off  from  her  present  resource 
in  caring  for  the  children  of  others  ;  though  the 
conditions  under  which  she  now  exercises  her  skill 
certainly  amount  to  begging  the  whole  question  of 
woman's  fitness  for  the  career  she  had  chosen.  - 

Both  parties  to  this  contention  are,  strange  to  say, 
ladies.     If  it  has  not  been  made  clear  from  the  events 


272  DR.   BREEN'S  PRACTICE. 

and  characters  of  the  foregoing  history  which  opinion 
is  right,  I  am  unable  to  decide.  It  is  well,  perhaps, 
not  to  be  too  explicitly  in  the  confidence  of  one's 
heroine.  After  her  marriage  perhaps  it  is  not  even 
decorous. 


University  Press;  John  Wilscn  &  Sen,  Cambridge. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 


This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


MAY  17  1972 


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